Medieval Times
by Sylvia A. Donalson
Summary: *Updated* Based on the events so wonderfully portrayed by the knights and staff of the Dallas Castle's Medieval Times Dinner Theatre, this story tries to fill in the storyline's "holes," or at least the ones discovered after multiple viewings.
1. New Prologue

**Prologue**

_Peace . . . the restless, evermoving prey that eludes the king. . . . Now come the lengthening days of his reign. . . . Many were the battles, and those fought long. . . . Many a son, a father, a brother were given over to the swords of Leon. . . . But where once the protection of his realm and the glory of battle drove the king, there was in the wintering of his years only the desire for peace. . . . And in these thoughts and desires was he joined by the King of Leon . . . . And so it was that the king sent his son to Leon to sign the treaty that would free the two kingdoms from the harness of war. . . ._

The early morning snow had melted, but it was still cold. The chill air hung heavily trying to suppress the rays of the rising sun. The dense fog was lifting, but only slightly as Prince Tristan led his small retinue up the river. He was all too aware of the treaty he carried and its significance as he made his way closer to land of his enemy. The weight of his errand burdened him more and more. The fate of the world was in his hands, and he was determined not to disappoint his countrymen. Despite the cold, he sat tall in the saddle. Even with his youthful features, he looked regal in his white tabard emblazoned with a golden rising sun. Tristan was a young man but not at all sheltered by his father the king. His mother had died when he was small, and he had been raised in the garrison and on the battlefield by knights. For as long as he could remember, he had lived among powerful warriors, and he had grown in their likeness. He was a handsome, tall man with broad shoulders. Unlike his father, he was clean shaven, and also in contrast to the king, his hair was short, dark, and other than the slight wave at his temple, straight. He was an even-tempered, kind man but not a social creature. He had been chastised more than once by his father for spending too much time sitting on his throne and not mingling among the people. But the times were changing. Now, to the people, armed with this treaty, he was a promise of hope. After many years of war, perhaps his reign as king would finally be one of peace.

He thought of his aging father and what this treaty would mean to him–what him, as prince, being the emissary of peace would mean to him. As he continued to try to see through the mist, he thought of what it would mean to them all: him, his father, his men, his people, and his young bride. His tired brown eyes scanned up the river. The left bank, the right. The trees and the brush were thick, and that along with the fog made visibility virtually impossible. And as if these conditions weren't daunting enough, he was tired. His men were tired too. So was his horse. They had left before the dawn had broken on the horizon. His squire's eyelids were heavy and drooping. If he were any closer to sleep, the prince's white banner would slip from his hand. He knew they would need a rest. And soon. If he could just push them a little farther. He had promised his wife. Ten days. He would be home in ten days time.

He caught some movement to his right from the corner of his eye. It was too large to be a fox or a rabbit. Maybe a deer. Two of his men were singing loudly and gaily. A couple of the others were having a secret discussion, and knowing them, it could only include three things: conquest, beer, or women. Probably the latter. Although for those two, it was usually a combination of all three. Tristan seemed the only one concerned for their safety. With the promise of peace, the rest of them were oblivious to the danger. To be sure, the two kings were set on peace, but there were others who would be against any such alliance. He could name them. He knew them. They had fought for one king or the other for so long that the very idea of peace would taste bitter in their mouths. These men would stop at nothing to silence those wishing for peace. He had willingly taken this mission for his father knowing the risk. He felt it was his duty. He knew his life was in danger, yet this treaty must be brought to Leon. His father would never have made it. He was in good health and a strong man considering his age, but he would be easy prey for any band of marauders. So as the prince and as his father's champion, Tristan volunteered to the task.

There was movement again. This time on his left. Something was not right. He held up his fist and pulled on the reigns. The company stopped behind him. He studied the trees as his men stopped their noise and did the same.

"Ambush!" the cry from one of his guards pierced the silence.

"There is treachery afoot!"

"Beware, My Lord!"

Similar cries were called out by the rest of his men, but the sounds were drowned out by the cries of a horde of footmen that had swooped down from the bank. Sword drawn, Tristan fought off the barbarians. Before he even had time to assess the situation, he knew they were outnumbered and surrounded. He sought a way of escape. He tried fighting his way through. "Send riders to the king!" he called. "Let him be warned of this treachery. Quickly!" But as he looked around he realized that there was no one to send. Several had already fallen. The others were fighting off more than they could handle. Tristan sliced his sword through one of them, but it caught in his armor forcing Tristan to let it go. One of the warriors shoved a spear in his direction. Tristan dodged the attack and grabbed the weapon. A struggle then ensued for control. The other man was stronger than he, and he lost his balance. He fell from the horse landing in the river. Tristan came up out of the water gasping for breath. The river was less than knee deep where he fell, but the icy water constricted his lungs making it difficult to breathe. One of his wounded, dying squires handed his prince his own sword and shield. Tristan fought off several more, but there were too many. While fighting several at once, his sword was knocked from his hand. In desperation, he hurled his shield at the head of an approaching adversary. It missed its target. He reached down into the water desperately searching for his sword.

"My Prince," he heard the soft, pained voice of another of his squires. He looked toward the sound–toward the bank. The boy was wounded. His tunic, which had been white that morning, was now stained red with blood and brown from the muddy river bank. He bravely tried to pass the banner to his lord. The last man standing, Tristan grabbed the pole. It would work as a staff. He swung it in circles around his head, backing up the attackers. He was running out of breath when one of them struck him in the stomach with the end of his staff. He dropped the banner. Several of his attackers closed in and began binding his hands. The last thing he remembered seeing before being knocked out was the dead face of his squire lying in the mud.

"Everything has to be perfect," the young King of Leon thought to himself as he hurried down the hall. He had seen to everything personally. Prince Tristan's stay was to be as comfortable and luxurious as possible. He hadn't slept for days, but the excitement drove him forward. _Peace._ They were to finally have peace. He wasn't much older than the prince himself, but as the recently crowned King of Leon, he was determined to impress Tristan and secure the peace that had long evaded him. Leon had been at war with King Philippe since before he was born, and he had often dreamt of this day. Now it had finally come. He had gone to the kitchens, spoken with the housemaids, the grooms. _Everything had to be perfect_. It had been ten years since Leon was this close to peace, and last time peace had been blown due to an insignificant technicality. Not this time. This time they would be celebrating peace. _Nothing _would go wrong. He refused to think of such things. The sound of his footsteps echoed across the battlements. He looked out beyond the thatched roofs and smoke drifting up from his capital. He eagerly watched the horizon awaiting the white banners of the prince that were to bring him his treaty. As the hours passed, he found himself growing more anxious. He paced fitfully. He knew a few hours delay was no cause for concern. He tried to reassure himself and cursed his impatience.

The high-pitched chatter of children startled him. Two young boys, the sons of his champion, were also on the wall awaiting the arrival of the royal party. The elder of the two tried giving his younger brother a boost so he could see over the wall. They stopped suddenly as they noticed their king. The elder grabbed his brother's sleeve reminding him to bow before their liege. The king smiled at the two miniatures of his friend and champion. This was the future of his kingdom, and the future was bright. He loved knowing that these boys would not grow up in the war torn world that he and their father had grown up in. These boys would know peace. Such thoughts lightened his heart. "What can I do for you young sirs?" he asked.

The elder looked up at him with a light in his soft brown eyes. "Mama said we were gonna have peace when the prince arrived, and Papa wouldn't have to go fight any more."

"Where him at?" the little one asked concerning the prince. The king's smile widened at his inquisitive and impatient expression. He lifted the little one off the ground and guided the other toward the wall. He pointed across the valley and told them of Prince Tristan and the peace he was to bring. He then sent them off to bed where the two children dreamt of white banners coming over the hill-white banners that never came.

Tristan awoke bound and by a fire. He was not sure how long he'd been out or how he had arrived at this place, but he was not allowed to rest for long. Once his abductors realized that the prince had regained consciousness, they had him up and moving across fields and down cattle paths. He had been dragged through the countryside for so long that he was no longer sure where he was. He vainly struggled against his bonds. His head throbbed. He was numb with cold. He did know one thing. These were not the barbarians they appeared to be. They periodically stopped to rest, but none of them spoke to him directly. They even spoke to each other in hushed tones. They may have been trying to disguise their accent, but they need not have bothered. He knew where those weapons were forged. He recognized them easily, and he knew that his father had been betrayed.

The ropes burned his wrists, but his captors pulled him along. In the fading light, he saw a ruin on a hill. He couldn't recall having been here before. The place appeared as though it were once grand. But now the walls had been destroyed. Stones lay scattered across the hill. Many of them blackened as if by fire. The destruction, however, was not recent. Grass and vines grew over the debris. He was being dragged to the only tower still standing. He stumbled up the broken stairs. A whip cracked near his head urging him forward. He made one last attempt to throw off his tormentors. He jerked on the rope pulling down one of the warriors and gave one last struggle. Getting loose, he sought escape but to no avail.

"Seize him. Set him in bonds," a deep, resonant voice sounded from the doorway of the tower. Tristan's struggle failed. He found himself once again restrained as he struggled to his knees. "Carefully," the voice continued, "here is great treasure indeed." One that Tristan had shoved off came at him with his sword drawn, but he was immediately halted by the voice. "Stay that blade! I want him alive." Tristan flicked his head to move his hair from his face. He tried to get a good look at his captor. He was wearing dark clothes making him difficult to see in the growing darkness. He was hooded and cloaked. He propped his hip up on part of the ruins casually. His voice turned sarcastic. "The king's own champion. Protector to the throne. Look at you now. Greatest in bravery. Mightiest in battle."

Tristan wanted a shot at him. How brave was _he_? Sending his minions, watching from afar. Tristan knew if he only had the chance he could take him. "If you will but set loose these bonds for an instant, you would know bravery. And might!"

"And were I to set you at liberty, would you slay all these warriors whom you were unable to best even with the aid of your company?"

Tristan may have been outmatched by the sheer numbers, but he was not fooled. Nor would he let his adversary believe he was. Tristan knew the hooded man was not as clever as he believed himself to be. Tristan took a deep breath and glared at the traitor before him. "Love not too well the execution of your charade, Highwayman. For though these rogues are arrayed in the dress and armor of men from the north, they bear arms forged by the smiths of Leon!"

"Silence! Neither highwayman nor master of charade stands before you, _Great Prince_. Instead at the tournament, I will become champion of two kingdoms." His minions cheered.

"Never! My errand and my path are well-known to my father, the king. There will be nowhere in his realm or in Leon where you will not suffer his reach." This man would _not_ be champion of his father's realm. Tristan was champion, but the comment was enough to make Tristan pause. He said "at the tournament"? His father was holding a tournament to celebrate the peace. _This man_ was going to the tournament? And he would be the champion of _two_ kingdoms?

"Ah, the king," the man left his post and approached Tristan. "If he seeks me out, his welcome will be less than he hopes. But he will not . . ."

Tristan continued to put the pieces together. And as he approached, Tristan saw beneath his hood, and he recognized his tormentor. "You!" He jumped up but was forced back down.

His captor laughed and walked behind him. "There is a darkness, Good Prince, that lies under darkness and yet, that will be the brightest of your days. Warden of the tower!" Tristan found himself being dragged to the tower again. As he moved down the hall, he could hear the deep voice following him as well as his malicious laughter. "Come, welcome our guest. See that he is afforded the deepest cellar where no light nor hope will disturb his dreams. Make way! Here is the king's champion! An ambassador of note. A maker of treaties . . ."

Tristan sat in a cold dark room struggling with his bonds. He knew the identity of his captor, and he wasn't sure why he still lived or what his intentions with him were, but they could not be for his welfare. He wasn't sure how long he'd been here. In the darkness, he was unable to track the passage of time, and here, alone in this room, he had time to think. His men were dead. They were his friends. They had families. He was responsible for them, and their deaths made him angry. Such resentment was futile he knew. But he so desperately wanted a chance to avenge them. He also worried about his own family-his father and his wife. King Philippe would be absolutely devastated if he failed at peace _again_ and his only son was killed in the process. His wife would be left alone. She was young, simple, and innocent. What would happen to her? He felt a desperate need to protect her, but he knew that it was hopeless. What would become of the kingdom itself? He wasn't sure of his captor's plans, but he did know they were not of peace. And if he succeeded, all would be lost. He twisted his hands again trying to break free. Pain shot through his wrists. It was useless. The door creaked open. They had been kind enough to bring him food every so often, and he figured that was why they had come. But a few of the minions who had killed his men came in and forced him up and out of the room.

His captor stood near the fire going through Tristan's possessions that had been taken from him. He had found the treaty. Tristan tensed. He read the first page and tossed it into the fire. Tristan objected and struggled against his restraints, but his captor ignored him. He did the same with each successive page of the document while Tristan watched on. "They trusted you. _I_ trusted you," Tristan said coldly. "Do what you want with me, but know that you will be punished for this."

Tristan remained ignored. A young man with long dark hair approached his master. "All is prepared?" the deep voice of his master asked.

"Yes, My Lord."

"Then let us go." He stood and gave one last command to his guards. "Gag him."


	2. New Chapter 1

**Part One: Don Temple**

**Chapter One**

_Over thirty years earlier . . ._

Don Javier Temple, a knight of Leon, ran a hand through his long, wavy blond hair as he walked through his liege's courtyard. The summer's campaign had drawn to a close. Winter would be setting in, and he was returning to his small fief given to him for his faithful service by his king. He stood at the edge of the courtyard and adjusted his fur cape waiting for his squire to return with his horse. He was anxious to get back to his young wife whom he had not seen in months. He had reminded himself that his absence from home had been worth it. The campaign this year could be marked as a success. Prince Philippe had to retreat and swiftly to avoid complete annihilation. Perhaps they would have peace soon. This pleased Javier Temple. He had killed enough men–had achieved enough glory. He longed for peace even if it meant a slip into oblivion. He knew it was only through a time of war that he could better himself. He could not rely on his family name to become an important man of the realm—only his sword. And even though his only chance at moving up in the world lay in his success on the field of battle, and even though the renown and glory he had achieved by the strength of his arm were addictive, he longed very much for a more quiet existence found in peace. He looked up to see another knight approaching him. The man nodded in greeting. Don Temple returned the courtesy.

"I, uh, was wondering if you heard?" the older knight asked.

Temple's blue eyes narrowed at the question posed to him. There was a sympathy in his voice that irked Temple. He needed no man's pity. "Heard what, Sir Knight?"

"About your parents?" he asked softly.

Temple nodded. He had heard. Temple's family history was a complicated one. He had cast them all off years ago. They were traitors–the whole lot of them. A few years ago, while he had been away at war, his father had allowed Prince Philippe to winter camp on his lands. Temple had refused to come home until the enemy left. Spring arrived and with it, Temple. He brought with him a warning from the king. Nothing like that was to_ ever_ happen again. Temple had been infuriated by his father's actions, and if his father's disloyalty wasn't enough, a few months later, his unmarried sister gave birth to a son–a bastard of some lonely, frozen knight in Philippe's service. His father had been shamed, but it served him right in Temple's mind. He had left home and had nothing to do with them since. He served _only_ the King of Leon—not Philippe and his lust for battle and glory. The King of Leon knew this well and had rewarded him for his service. He would do nothing to damage it; therefore, he had no contact with his family whose loyalties were, at best, questionable. But even though he had not communicated with them for years, he had heard the latest news. Philippe was running back to his homeland for winter with his tail between his legs. He knew of only one place he might find some rest. He stayed only a few days at Temple's father's, but the King of Leon had made good on his threat. He sent soldiers to the house and burned the village. He spared the family's life, but they were given a new warning. No mercy next time. Javier Temple had heard, but he had refused to act with pity. They were only getting what they deserved.

"I served with your father. A long time ago. He was a good man. A good knight. What will they do? How will they survive the winter?" the other knight asked.

"I don't know, and frankly, I don't really care." Temple left him and mounted his horse to return home.

It was late in the afternoon a few days later when Temple rode into his own courtyard. After spending much of the summer in the realm of kings and other men much greater than he, he had forgotten how small this place was, but he reminded himself that it was his own. A stable boy took the horse, and he glanced up in time to see his wife running out to meet him. He had forgotten how beautiful she was. It was good to be home. He smiled and waited for her. She ran and threw her arms around his neck, and he held her close. He went to kiss her, but she turned away.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"Please, don't be angry with me," she began.

He smiled. His wife was the most virtuous, sweetest, unassuming woman he knew. Whatever sin she had committed may have been a gross error in judgment in her mind, but he knew it could only be a small matter to him. Besides, he was so happy to be here and to be here with her, he really thought that nothing could upset him. "And what grievous crime have you committed today?" he asked smiling tugging at her hair. She smiled at first, but it faded quickly. Then, he saw the tears in her eyes. "Isabel? What is it? . . . You can tell me."

"Javy," she began but was unable to continue.

He ran a hand through her hair and watched her face. She was afraid–afraid of him and his reaction. He cursed his short temper. "I won't be angry. I promise," he said to reassure her. He felt her shiver in his arms. She had run out so quickly to meet him that she had neglected to protect herself from the winter cold. "Here, come inside where it's warm, and tell me everything." He led her inside. He began moving toward her private chambers where he knew a fire would be going and they could talk alone, but she stopped him just inside the door.

"No. I have to tell you. Before . . ."

"Before what?" Temple's nervousness was quickly turning into anger, and it was all he could to hold it in. He knew leaving his wife here alone for months on end would come back to haunt him one of these days. "Is there someone else?"

"No! No . . ."

From the look of horror on her face, he knew she told the truth. But at the same time, it only fueled his anger. "Did someone hurt you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

It was then he saw the woman over her shoulder. It took a moment to register who it was because he didn't really believe what he was seeing at first. She was young, approaching twenty with long beautiful blond hair and soft blue eyes like Temple's. She looked nervous and somewhat afraid as she stood wringing her hands. "Hello, Javy," she said softly.

The confused look on his face hardened. His jaw set, his forehead wrinkled, and his face began turning red with rage. His gaze turned to his wife. The accusing look stung. "You said you wouldn't be angry," she said helplessly pleading with him. "She's family. _Your_ family. Your blood."

"Are they _all_ here?" he asked through clenched teeth, ignoring his younger sister at present.

Despite him ignoring her, it was she who spoke. "Father stayed behind. He heard the agents of Leon were coming so he sent us away."

His wife added, "Javy, they had nowhere else to go. She's your sister for pity's sake. And your mother. And the baby was sick. I couldn't turn them away."

"The brat's here too?"

"Don't say that. He's such a sweet little thing. And so cute." Temple ignored them and walked toward the door. "Javy? Where are you going?"

He sighed in anger and looked at his sister. "Have your things ready to leave by morning."

She merely looked at the floor, but his wife protested. "Javy, no. You can't just throw them out. They're your family."

"I have no family," he said coldly. Turning on his heel, he stormed out slamming the door behind him.

Isabel had known he would react this way. She should have gotten to him sooner. His family had always been a source of hurt and shame for him. As much as she wanted to reason with him, she knew him well enough to let him cool off. She went and told her mother-in-law the news. The woman only nodded sadly. Isabel felt guilty for casting them out into the winter cold, but it was her husband's decision to make. She went and found Temple's sister who was hurling her things into a bag. Her son sat quietly on the floor watching her confused.

"We should never have come here," she said bitterly.

"I'll talk to him," Isabel replied with as much encouragement as she could muster.

"And say what?" She slumped down on the bed. The little boy sensed his mother's dejected mood and patted her leg. She smiled and picked him up. She kissed his cheek. "It's this little one I worry about."

"So do I. I want only the best for you and your son. Catalina, I'll talk to him. Surely we can work something out."

"You know my brother as well as I do. He won't let us stay. . . . Have you told him?"

"Told him what?"

"What we spoke of the other day?"

"No. And I won't. You told me that in confidence, and I would never betray you that way. He need never know that I know anything."

Catalina Temple fought back tears as she clutched her child closer. "My brother hates me. My own father hates me. He's all I have. Especially now."

"What do you mean?"

Catalina Temple wiped her tears, steadied her voice, and attempted a calm reply. "His father is to be married."

"Oh. . . I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. It's not like I ever expected him to come back for us."

"Even so," Isabel began, sitting next to her friend, "I'm sure it hurts all the same." Catalina shrugged. "Does he know he has a son?"

The boy shrugged his way out of his mother's hold back to his toys on the floor. "I think so. I tried to get word to him, but I'm not entirely sure he got the news."

"Are you not afraid that he'd come and try to take him away from you?"

She shook her head. "I'm more afraid that his family will find out and try to rid him of the burden. _Him,_ though_, _ . . . I'd actually like to see him fight for his son. It would restore some of my faith in him. As it is, I don't think he cares all that much."

"I'm sure he does. If Javy had a son—even a bastard son—I can't imagine him just tossing him aside."

"I'm sure he'll have more sons soon. He doesn't have a need for mine." Catalina found herself refusing to say more. She wanted to reply that the only reason her brother was that way was because Javy had no legitimate children of his own—children that she knew he wanted. And as much as she didn't mind hurting her brother's feelings, she wouldn't do that to her friend.

Temple walked out to the battlements. His sentries respectfully ignored him as he paced up and down the wall. All the memories had come flooding back. The late night arguments with his father. His mother pleading with him while his sister avoided him. He had taken his wife and left knowing that leaving his family would mean he would be starting from the bottom. He would have to work for everything he got. And work he did. He had made a name for himself. And he had done it with nothing from them. And now they get in trouble and take advantage of his wife's good nature. He was _not_ going to lose everything, everything he had worked for, for_ them_. They had made their bed. It was time they lay in it. And the boy? Well, it was his sister's choice. She should have thought about that before she sneaked out of their father's house and into that knight's bed. He raked his hands through his hair. He was impervious to the cold air. This is not what he had wanted to come home to. He wanted to scream, but he refused to let his servants and other inferiors see him do so. It was shameful enough that they saw him like this. With a final sigh, he went back inside.

He stepped heavily down the hall. He heard soft humming. He recognized the tune. His mother used to sing it to him and his sister when they were younger. He listened closely and followed the sound. He peeked into the room. His mother was rocking a small child. He was asleep or close to it. His mother stroked the boy's brown hair while he clutched the neck of her gown.

"Hello, Javy," she said bringing him out of his reverie.

"Mother," he said rather coldly.

"This is your nephew."

"I can see that."

"He just turned two."

"I thought he was sick."

"He was. His fever broke yesterday. He's doing much better. . . . Your father had no choice, Javy."

"What?"

"When Philippe showed up all those years ago? What choice did he have?"

Javy rolled his eyes. He had heard this argument before. Many times. "He had a choice."

"No, he didn't. He knew this would happen if he let Philippe camp on his land. But what if he had refused? Philippe would have burned everything and camped anyway. When you have a family of your own, perhaps you'll understand."

Javier shrugged. "What about him?" he asked nodding at his nephew. "Did father have a choice about that? It's not like she was raped. Did he offer Catalina to Philippe and his knights as a prize?"

"You know he didn't."

"He might as well have. Very hospitable for a man with no choice," he replied with a bitter edge to his voice.

She smiled softly shaking her head. "You're so much like him. Your father? Even the way you look at him," she said nodding at the child. "Such contempt. Such malice. You don't see a little boy–an innocent little boy. You see only the enemy." Javier said nothing. "Are you still kicking us out in the morning?"

"Yes." He turned to the door. "It's the choice I'm making for _my _family."

Temple walked into the room that he shared with his wife. She stared at the floor when he entered, but he said nothing about it. In fact, he said nothing at all. Both of them got ready for bed in silence. Temple crawled beneath the blankets after his wife. He stared at the ceiling both physically and emotionally drained. He hadn't expected this cold homecoming, but as he listened to the soft breathing of the woman beside him, he felt guilty. He started to say something but just exhaled instead.

"What is it, Javy?" she asked, not allowing him such an easy retreat, but not turning to face him either.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I said I have no family. But I do. I have you. I haven't forgotten that." She turned and looked at him. She watched him for a moment. Then, she nestled against him. He smiled. She had forgiven him.

"I'm sorry too. I knew you'd be angry, but I couldn't turn them away."

"No need to apologize. I was never angry at you," he said putting his arm around her pulling her closer.

"If you send them away, what will they do? Where will they go?"

"Home, I guess."

"They have no home to go to. You'll leave them to share a tent with winter setting in. They'll starve if they don't freeze to death. Your mother has always treated me like a daughter. And Catalina? She's my friend. And the poor baby. . ."

"Will be better off."

"How can you say that!" she said sitting up and staring at him horrified.

"Isabel, that boy will have nothing. When he grows up, Leon will never trust his loyalties. Even if he does become a great knight, Leon will keep him on a very short leash. He'll always feel like he has something to prove. He could go to his father. But what of that? You think Philippe and his knights would trust a man raised in Leon?"

"Leon trusts _you_ despite your family."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It's just different."

They were silent for a moment. Then she tentatively stroked his arm. "Please, Javy. For me. Let them stay."

He sat up and took her hand. "Who do you think I'm doing this for? I'm doing this for you. _For us_. If Leon finds out we've harbored traitors, our home could be next. Is that what you want? I've built this for us. _For you_. And I won't let them take it. They've put us in danger. We are at risk of losing everything, and I won't let that happen." Seeing that his defense did not meet his wife's satisfaction, he sighed. "They can take whatever they need: horses, food, supplies. But they're still leaving in the morning."

"Thank you, Javy." They lay back down with her curled up next to him. "You're a good man."

"Not as good as you." He kissed the top of her head.

"It was nice," she said drowsily.

"What? That kiss? You can have another."

She chuckled. "No. Catalina's son. Having a child in the house."

"Just wait til we have our own."

"Javy, it's been three years . . ."

"I'm just not home enough. That's all."

"You're home now."

He smiled. "That I am."

When Javier awoke the next morning, his wife was gone, but he knew where she was. He smiled. He knew they were two different people, but their differences amused him. He got out of bed and dressed. He walked out the door to the edge of the courtyard, blending in with the shadows. Isabel was holding the kid. The boy laughed at her. They had become fast friends. Javier smiled to himself. She was going to make a wonderful mother. _If_ they ever had any children, but he brushed that thought from his mind. They still had time. His mother was overseeing the packing of the wagon. His sister assisted wherever she could. He glanced back at his mother. She had noticed him and was staring at him with a look of pity on her face that he didn't understand. He stared back coldly. He did not want to give her an invitation to come over. She didn't. With everything packed and the baby bundled up, they were sent on their way. Isabel walked over to him. "You were up and at work early this morning," he said with a smile.

"And you slept in. After your journey though, and the surprise that was waiting for you here, you earned a rest. I'm sure you were exhausted."

"And then you kept me up late."

"It was good to have you home. I missed you."

He entwined his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry you're here by yourself all the time. You know if I could–"

"I know. . . . You think they'll be all right?"

"I do."

"The boy too?"

"The boy too. He'll outlive us all."


	3. New Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The boy stared curiously at the fire. The small child was an odd addition to the scene. It was late on a cold winter's night in Prince Philippe's winter encampment. It was a place of armor, horses, weapons, and knights—not a place for a boy his size. But there he stood among the tents rubbing his thin arms and shivering. His nose, fingers, and toes were growing numb with cold. His eyelids were heavy, but his mother had told him not to move. It had been dark when his mother sneaked into his room and woke him, dressed him, and smuggled him out of his grandparent's estate. He wasn't sure why he had to keep this visit a secret from them, but at five years old, he never really understood adults.

He watched the flames lick the dark night sky and wondered what she was telling the man in the tent he was standing next to. The man was his father–whom he had never seen. He was a man that the boy did not understand. He was a mystery. His grandfather called his father mean names when he thought his grandson wasn't listening. His grandmother never said much about his father, but his mother told him stories. His father was a warrior—a soldier that everyone loved and looked up to. It was weird though. He knew he was different somehow. His family wasn't like others. His father didn't even know who he was, and his mother said that tonight they were gonna surprise him. Now he stood watching the fire next to the tent where his parents were. Every now and then he heard a raised voice, but he ignored it. The occasional knight who happened by frightened him more. He knew he was supposed to be afraid of them. They were the enemy. His grandpa had said so. Two passed him, and he held his breath. One noticed him. "Hey, what's that?" he asked his companion.

The other, the elder of the two, eyed him curiously. He looked at the tent and back at him. His brow furrowed, and the boy swallowed. The man knelt down and looked him in the eye. "What's your name, Son?" He said nothing, but his eyes widened in fear. "Don't be afraid. My name is Matias. You know, I got a little boy at home about your age. You're about six, right?"

"Five," he whispered.

"Five?" Matias smiled softly, "You're tall. You'll make a good knight someday. What's your name?"

He shuffled nervously, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Carlos."

"Well, Carlito, what brings you to Prince Philippe's winter camp," the other said with an over exaggerated attempt at hospitality.

"Keep quiet, Leondro. You're scaring him," Matias replied. His voice softened as he returned his attention to the little boy. "Who are your parents?"

"My mama's name is Catalina," he said stealing a glance at the tent behind him.

A silence came over the men. Then Leondro swore. "You don't think . . ."

"I told you to keep quiet," Matias said rather sternly.

"He's the right age. Even looks like him."

"Silence!"

Leondro started to laugh. "Your mama's trying to get your papa to claim his bastard, huh?"

"Leondro, stop it."

"It'll never happen, Kid. Your daddy's got a new wife at home. Soon, he'll have other sons to be concerned with. Hell, he's got enough to be worried about, least of all the product of some–"

"Leondro, you're drunk. Just 'cause your father cast you off doesn't mean you have to be mean to this boy. You wouldn't be too happy if a knight of Leon treated your boy that way."

Leondro seemed to sober up for a moment. "Tell me I'm wrong, Matias."

Matias sighed. The boy looked at him with tired brown eyes looking for some kind of answer. "Do you and your mama live alone?" He shook his head. "With your grandparents?" He nodded. Matias thought for a moment. "Your grandfather was a knight. Wasn't he?"

He nodded again. "My uncle too."

"Don Temple."

"That's him. But grandpa says we can't talk about him."

"I see. I've fought your uncle. At tournament. He's a powerful knight. You will be too someday. Learn from them. You're not the only boy this war has left without a father, and you won't be the last." He reached out and mussed his brown hair. He removed his cloak. "Here, come closer to the fire. You're frozen and exhausted. Rest."

"Mama said not to move."

He wrapped the cloak around him while he yawned. "I'll watch for her. Lay down by the fire, and go to sleep."

Leondro wandered off, and Matias watched the little boy sleep. Why did she bring him here in the middle of the night? What exactly did she expect? Did she have some romantic delusion that he'd whisk her and the boy away? Forsake his own kingdom, his own loyalties, and settle in Leon? He couldn't help but smile though. The boy did look like his father. That wavy brown hair. Those brown eyes. The way he bit his lip when concentrating. He reminded him of his own son that he hadn't seen in so long. Too long.

"Carlos," he heard a woman whisper. "Carlos, where are you?" she said a little more loudly. He turned and saw a woman growing increasingly more frantic. "Carlito!" she said in a pleading tone.

"He's here, My Lady."

She walked over wiping her tear-stained cheeks. "Thank you, Sir Knight."

"Didn't go like you hoped?"

"He won't even see him. His own son."

"Any man would be proud to have such a son," he said knowing as he said it that he probably shouldn't have. It was not his intention to sound patronizing.

"You would think," she said bitterly.

"He has his own concerns, Lady."

"His little wife that his daddy bought for him?" she scoffed.

Matias found it hard to be polite and not bring up the fact that she should have taken a hint when they left camp six years ago, and she never heard from him, at least not to his knowledge. She hadn't seen him in at least that long. She didn't find it odd that he never tried to see her? She hadn't heard that he was married? Love really is blind. "What do I tell him?" she said almost to herself. Matias shuffled nervously. Surely she wasn't expecting him to answer.

He rubbed the back of his head. "Do you need any help getting home?"

"We'll manage. Carlos? Carlos, wake up. We're going home."

His mother had cried the whole way home. He didn't understand, but he knew not to say anything. A few days passed. There was a new tenseness in the house, and he found himself avoiding his grandfather even more. The boy found himself sleeping restlessly, having strange dreams of knights, when a scream woke him. He crawled out of bed and went to the window. He saw the smoke and the flames, and he stood frozen in fear. The door opened, and his mother and a nurse entered. "What's wrong, Mama? What's going on? . . . You're hurt?" His mother pulled her robe tighter over a blood stain—doing everything she could to conceal a wound from her young son.

"I'm fine. Come here, and get dressed. We must hurry."

"Why? What's happening? Mama?" She ignored his questions and with help from the maid threw layers of clothes on the boy. Sensing their tension, tears began streaming down his face.

"Hush, My Darling," she said smoothing his hair and pulling him closer. "Everything will be okay. But we must hurry."

Followed closely by the nurse, she carried him through the halls and out a secret passage. "Mama? Why is everyone crying? Where are Grandma and Grandpa? Why are we running?"

Catalina felt the tears falling down her cheeks. She couldn't answer her son. She just wanted him safe. The nurse yelped in pain. "Are you all right?" She looked over at the woman who had an arrow sticking out from her back. She had heard them whizzing overhead. She had no idea they were so close.

"I'm okay," the woman said shakily.

Catalina set her son down for a moment ignoring her own wound. She reached out and broke off the protruding shaft. "Can I do anything? Can you continue?"

"Yes, My Lady. It's no worse than that gash you've got."

Catalina scooped up her son, and they kept going. An hour passed. Catalina had to put Carlos down and make him run on his own. But he was so tired. And so was she. And weak. She sat down. "Can we stop running _now_, Mama?" he asked through his tearstained cheeks.

She wiped the tears from his face and kissed his cheek. She looked at the nurse through tears of her own. "I can't go anymore. Can you?"

The nurse began to cry herself, but she nodded. "A little while longer, yes."

"You need to get him to his father. It's the only place he'll be safe. Philippe's camp shouldn't be too much further."

"We'll manage."

"Carlos, go with her—"

"No! I wanna stay with you." He reached for her, but kicking and screaming, she handed him over to the nurse.

"Don't struggle so, Carlos. Everything will be okay," the nurse said making an effort to put on a brave face.

"I wanna stay with you!" he repeated while trying to get to his mother. They ignored him.

The nurse told her she'd send help, but their eyes met, and they both knew there would be little point. "Just get him out of here," she said softly reaching out and smoothing his hair one last time.

The nurse now carried the crying Carlos until she could do so no longer. She knew she was close to the camp, but she was in so much pain. It was becoming more and more difficult to focus, and she was afraid she would lose her way. She sat on the cold earth drawing the boy close to her to keep him warm. "We're just gonna rest a moment. Then, we're gonna find your father. Wouldn't you like that?"

"No. I want to go back to Mama."

"Shh. . . . We can't do that. Just rest. We'll just rest a bit. Tomorrow, everything will be fine."

Matias de Soledad stepped out of his tent to see the commotion. "What's going on?" he asked Leondro de Roig.

"Prince Philippe saw smoke on the horizon this morning. A scout just returned. It seems that Leon's king found out the local don was tolerating our stay. He sent in a small detachment of troops and burned the place in the night. Estate. Village. All of it. Our prince is gathering men to go over and look for survivors. Help in any way we can."

"I'll get ready."

The king and prince rode with their trusted knights toward the village. A young fresh faced knight rode up to greet them. "What news, del Mau?" the king asked.

"Everything's burned to the ground. Any who resisted were killed. Some burned in their beds. It's a mess, Sire. There's nothing you can do."

"What of the family? The Temples?" Philippe asked.

The young man shook his head. "The old man and his wife were not spared. Their daughter disappeared with her son, but no one knows where she went." The knight was silent a moment. "No one believes she got far."

Philippe looked away. He knew the family had been killed because of him and his army. And he knew the woman was dead. Probably her son too. He knew where she would run, and he knew that she never reached her destination. He was ashamed and guilty. Their blood would be on his hands. He looked out across the field next to the road. There was something dark and moving in the snow. "What is that?" he said softly. No one answered. He dismounted and made his way across the frozen field.

"My Lord?" Matias asked. He was ignored.

"Philippe! Let someone else see to that!" his father the king called.

Philippe kept walking. As he drew closer, he saw that the form was a body. A body with something hunched over it—too small for a man. Matias, concerned for his lord, dismounted as well and followed at a short distance. He watched the small thing move with the speed of a predator as it leapt from its perch and hurled itself at Philippe. On instinct, he reached for his sword until he realized what danger they had come across. The form was a boy—dirty, covered in soot. He pounded his small, bloodstained fists into the prince while Philippe simply stared down in confusion. Tears streamed down the boy's dirty face. "You killed them!" he yelled over and over again. Philippe finally grabbed the neck of his shirt and held him at arm's length. The boy's arms continued to flail wildly trying to make contact with his enemy. Philippe smiled slightly. It was one of faint amusement, but on closer examination it was more of a pained expression of compassion for the little waif. "I seemed to have found a survivor from the village," he called to the rest of his retinue.

A few knights chuckled. Matias did not. He had been struck dumb as he recognized the child. "My Lord?" Matias began.

"Yes, Sir Knight."

"That's not a village boy. That's . . . That's . . ."

"What, Sir Matias?" The knight could not continue. "Leondro, help him out."

He sighed. "Sire, that's Catalina's boy."

"Catalina Temple? Catalina who visited the camp a few nights ago?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, Sire."

"What is going on?" the king asked.

Leondro took the liberty of examining the body on the ground. He shook his head and crossed himself. "It's not her. She is dead though." The prince said nothing–only stared at the still struggling child. All the knights with them stared as well. They knew. They all knew Catalina. They all knew whom she favored. The boy became a curiosity. But the king in his ignorance was not amused.

"My King," Matias continued, "the daughter of this don, she . . . she kept one of your knights' bed warm one winter about six years ago. That's her boy. His boy." Matias approached Philippe. "If I may?" He nodded. Matias grabbed the boy by the shoulders while the prince let him go. The boy fought him now instead. "Carlos, look at me. Carlos, it's okay. It's okay. No one is going to hurt you. Carlito!" The boy still struggled. Matias was trying to shake some sense into him. He finally calmed as he recognized Matias. He quit fighting, but the sobbing continued, even worse than before. "Where is your mother?" The boy mumbled something that he didn't understand. "Your mother, Boy! Where is she?" His crying kept on. Matias gave up and held him. He comforted him and just let the boy cry.

"He'll be in your charge until we figure out what to do with him," the king said. Matias nodded in obeisance. "Come along, Philippe. We have much to talk about."

"You mind telling me what is going on?" the king asked when they were alone.

Philippe shrugged. "Bastard of one my knights it seems."

"You know which one?"

"Perhaps. I knew Catalina. And her friends." Philippe refused to look at his father. He just stared at the ground.

"And what is wrong with you?"

"It's my fault."

"What is?"

"That family being killed. That boy being orphaned. It's all my fault."

The king scoffed. "It's war. You would have done the same."

"I would not. Kill women and children like that? They would have killed him too if they had found him."

The king rolled his eyes. "And that's the reason I worry about you. You are going to make a terrible king. The King of Leon did what he had to do. He sent a message to his subjects, and I respect him for that. Mercy is for the weak. It's absolutely worthless. People take advantage of it. But that's what you are. Weak. Not much better than that whiny brat we found."

Philippe said nothing, but they were interrupted by Matias who entered and bowed. "Sire."

"The boy?" the king asked.

"Sleeping. One of my squires is with him. Leondro just returned. They found his mother's body." Both Matias and Philippe stared at the ground. But the king was not moved. "She was near where we found the boy."

"What do we do with him?" the king asked with a sigh.

Matias shrugged. "His father is here, My Lord. If he had the courage to take him on."

"It doesn't matter to me who his father is. I'll not have his bastard running around. If he hasn't claimed him by now, he never will. He must have his reasons. I don't have the time or space to deal with some displaced orphan. The boy must go. Has he any other relatives? On his mother's side?"

"His mother's brother is Don Javier Temple," Matias said slowly.

"Don Temple? The Hammer of Leon?"

"That's the one. Sire, we should keep him. If only to keep him _with _us instead of _against_ us. Look at his bloodline. He'll be a knight. He'll be a warrior. If we let him stay, he'll fight under your colors. If we send him to Temple, he'll fight against you. Temple will make him strong and ruthless. It would be best to keep him here."

"Maybe Soledad is right," Philippe began. "There has to be another way. I mean, . . . Temple is . . . mean. He has a reputation for having a violent temper and being just plain vicious. His own men fear him."

His father laughed. "So what? His father is ignoring him. Someone will have to take charge of him. You gonna do it? . . . You don't have the time, and I'll not have you waste what time you've got on some no-account bastard," he said sternly. "No. I'll not have him distracting _anyone_ from their duty—especially you. The boy will go to Temple. Send him word that we have something of his that needs returning."

"Sire," Matias replied as he bowed and turned to go.

"Wait, Sir Knight," the king called out.

"Yes?"

"You know who his father is?"

"I might."

"Is it you?"

"No, Sire."

"Good. Keep him away from his father. I want the boy returned to Temple without incident and that be the end of it."

"Whatever you wish, Sire." Matias left with Philippe close on his heels.

"We can't send him to Temple," Philippe said under his breath when they were outside the tent.

"And what exactly do you propose we do?"

"We'll just take him back with us. We can hide him somewhere. My father will never know the difference. And when we get home, . . . I don't know. . . . He could stay with you."

"With me?"

"Yeah. How many children do you have again? He'd blend in with them."

Matias smiled softly. "And one look at that little face and my wife would instantly be won over. The rest of my family though—my brothers, my father-in-law—they would frown on a boy from Leon growing up in my house with my children. "

Philippe nodded sadly. "And he wouldn't stay a secret very long, would he?"

"No. Look, maybe this is the best thing for him."

"Temple hates him."

"Well, if you raised him, he'd have to deal with your father who hates him. For better or worse, Temple is his family. And Temple has something that your father doesn't have."

"What's that?"

"Isabel Temple."

Philippe shifted defensively. "I have a wife too."

"She won't see the boy as family. And once she has her own, she'll brush him aside. But Isabel and Javier Temple have no children nor are they likely to have any. She will love that boy. And perhaps, she'll soften her husband." Philippe still wasn't satisfied. "Look, six years ago, you made a choice. You decided to camp on Temple's lands, and this is where that choice has led. You either go back in that tent and stand up to the king, or you release me to do my duty."

Don Javier Temple mounted his best Spanish horse. He was curious as to what Philippe wished to return to him. Some property of his parents most likely. He had heard of the destruction of the village. He didn't doubt it, nor did it surprise him. He had warned his father on numerous occasions as to what an alliance with Philippe would result in. And he had been right. He did mourn them—at least as much was proper. He wondered if his sister still lived, and what had become of the kid. He didn't know the identity of his sister's lover, but he figured if she was alive, she was with him. It was the only thing that made sense. He saw Philippe's detachment that was sent to meet him. He recognized Sir Leondro de Roig and Matias de Soledad—two of Philippe's most trusted knights even if they could no longer be considered youths. It wouldn't be long before their sons would be taking their place.

"Ah, Sir Leondro," he began, "still fighting, I see. I hear you have some property of mine. I'm curious to see it." Matias dismounted and walked to the back of the troop and returned with a little boy. His brown hair was disheveled and falling across his face. He was a filthy little wretch. "What is that supposed to be?" he asked with contempt.

"Your nephew. Catalina's son. She was killed in the raid. Along with your parents. We found him," Matias said simply.

Temple's face hardened as he felt anger rising up within him. "Where's the boy's father? Not man enough to own up to his own actions, eh? The coward throws his bastard on my doorstep? That's a real man for you."

"Don't try to make him angry. He's not with us. My king would not allow it."

"Brat's not my responsibility or concern. Take him back to the man that sired him. I don't want him."

"His father has not come forward, and the king will not have him."

"You telling me you don't know who he comes from? You're lying."

"All the same. I have my orders to leave him here, and you can't just leave the boy to starve or freeze to death in the snow."

"But _you_ can?" Temple scoffed in reply. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. He then nodded to one of his attendants who went forward to get the boy.

"Thank you, Temple," Soledad said softly.

He rolled his eyes. "Spring will be here soon. And we all know what that means. Until we meet again," he said turning and riding away.

Philippe sat outside the camp waiting for the party to return. The snow began to fall softly, but he just wrapped himself tighter in his cloak and waited. He heard the sound of horses. The company arrived. Soledad sent the rest forward along with his horse, and he stopped to speak with his prince. "How did it go? Was he safely delivered?" Philippe asked. Matias nodded. "Temple?"

"He wasn't pleased. He wouldn't even look at him. But he took him."

"The boy ever say anything?"

"No. He's still not talking." They were silent awhile.

"Soledad?"

"Yes?"

"What's his name?"

"Have you forgotten?"

"I had other things on my mind."

"Carlos. His name is Carlos."

"Carlos. A good name. He looked like a good boy."

"He did, Sire. . . . Are you having regrets?"

He sighed. "I wish I could send you back to get him. You really think this is for the best?"

"No. But, like I said, you'd either have to stand up to your father or keep the boy under lock and key."

"So you are saying that unless his father comes forward and stands up to the king, the boy is better off with Temple."

"That's what I'm saying."

"Yes. Or I could kill my father," Philippe replied trying to make light of the situation.

"You could. Although I'd like to see it. You won't stand up to him for a little orphan, but you'll kill him? Yup. I'd have to see it to believe it."

"He's not just some orphan," Philippe said defensively.

"I know. And that's my point."

Temple leapt from his horse and began speaking to one of his grooms secretly wondering what on earth he was supposed to do with that boy. He took little pleasure at the thought of raising a bastard of one of Philippe's knights. But it was a task that had been thrust upon him. He supposed the boy was partly his blood—not that he looked anything like him. He thought that maybe that would make this easier—if he looked at the boy and saw any trace of a Temple. Any Temple would do—his father, his mother, his sister, or even himself, but he didn't see any Temple blood in that dark haired, dark eyed little stray. And he didn't want to feel responsible for some other man's indiscretion. Philippe and his army should have kept him. He was more their responsibility than his.

He watched the boy out of the corner of his eye. He seemed so small to him. And something seemed wrong with him. He just stared blankly into space. Was he afraid? He gave the boy some credit. If that was his problem, he was hiding it well. He began to wonder what the boy had seen. Did he witness his grandparents' execution? Was he there when his mother was killed? He'd probably be permanently damaged by the ordeal. For now, he just stood there awaiting his fate with dignity. Temple finally realized who would know what to do with him, but as he went to call out to him, he had another realization. He had no idea what the kid's name was.

Carlos stood a safe distance away wondering what he was supposed to do. His uncle was a stranger to him. He was tired of strange men, and they all seemed so angry. Especially his uncle. He didn't know why the man was already mad at him, and his unprovoked rage frightened him. He wished he could have stayed with Matias. He had been nice to him. He didn't seem angry at him. What he really wanted though was to go home. But he knew he couldn't do that. And he wasn't gonna cry anymore. Men didn't cry. His uncle finally stopped talking and began walking toward the house. At first, he thought he had been forgotten, but he was mistaken. "Come along, Boy," his uncle called barely looking at him. "Keep up," his uncle called out behind him as Carlos lagged behind, struggling to keep up with his uncle's long strides. Every now and then, Temple would look behind him to see if the boy was still there. He stepped into a room after a brief knock.

"What is it, Javy?" a woman asked at his entrance. She smiled softly when she saw the child. "Well who is this?"

"This is our nephew. Catalina's little bastard. He'll be staying with us now."

"Why?" she asked without thinking, but their eyes met, and she knew.

"My mama's dead now," Carlos said softly. The first words he had uttered all day.

Temple grabbed the boy's chin and tilted his face toward the light. "You must look like him. All of us, blond hair and blue eyed. Then you. Dark hair. Dark eyes."

Isabel Temple knelt in front of him pushing her husband away. She wanted to reach out and hold him he looked so frightened, but she didn't want to scare him anymore. He already eyed her with fear and suspicion just because she knelt close to him. He looked ready to bolt. "I'm glad you're here, Carlos." She couldn't help but reach out and smooth his hair. He flinched but only slightly. "Look how big you've gotten. I haven't seen you since you were a baby."

His little face changed its expression to confusion. "You saw me when I was a baby?"

"Yes."

"And . . . You know my name?"

"Your mama was my very best friend. My name is Isabel. You used to call me Izzy. And this is your uncle. His name is Javier, but we all just call him Javy. And this is going to be your new home. You'll live here with us. I know I'm not your mother, but I'll be kind of like a mother to you, and Javy will be like a father. You've never had a father before. Would you like that?"

"I just want mama," he said softly.

Isabel could take it no more. She pulled him against her and held him. He clung to her. "I know, Sweetheart. I know."

Isabel sat watching him sleep. She wanted to wipe his tearstained cheeks, but she didn't want to risk waking him. It had taken him so long to fall asleep. She found herself fighting tears herself. She had been close to the Temple family. She mourned them just as the boy did. And the poor boy. . . . She remembered when Philippe first arrived at the Temple's. Javy had been away fighting, and she was absolutely petrified. If she thought she could have gotten away with it, she would have sneaked away from the Temple's back to her husband where she knew she would be safe. The enemy soldiers stayed for months. Philippe and his elite would show up for dinner, and the prince seemed amused at her timidity. She had been too terrified to notice when Catalina had started sneaking out, and her nervousness had blinded her to her friend's sudden and unexplained happiness. She never knew anything was different until Javy returned home. He had been furious at his family, but she was glad to be with him again. It was only after things had settled down that she realized something was wrong with her friend. She was not relieved but upset when Philippe left with his army, and it only worsened. She was the first to find out that Catalina was pregnant. And when Javy found out, that was the last straw. He told her to pack her things—that they were leaving. And now, that baby was here and all alone. She knew she would raise him as her own, but she also knew he would need a man in his life if he was to ever become anything. He needed a father. Javy would do it if she asked him. Wouldn't he? She wiped her tears. Every man . . . EVERY man he knew, even his own father, hated him, abandoned him, or both. What would become of him?

Javier rubbed his temples as he walked to his room. An agent of the king had arrived to tell him about his family. He told him he had already heard. He neglected to mention the boy. He wasn't sure what the king would have done to him. The man was merciless. And he couldn't do that to his wife. She loved that boy. It would simply kill her to part with him.

He entered the room to find his wife sobbing. He was frozen where he stood unsure what to do. "What is it?" he asked hoping that he was not the cause of her tears.

"It's just . . . He's been through so much. . . . He's just a little boy."

Somewhat relieved that this time he was not to blame for her unhappiness, he sat with her desperate for something to say or do that would comfort her. "Where is he now?"

"Asleep. I got him fed and bathed. He cried for her. Catalina?"

"But she's gone."

"I know. And so does he. But he doesn't understand. And quite frankly, neither do I. I know Catalina was in love. I know she was deceived. . . . or at least, misunderstood his father's intentions. But because of him, his army, she's dead. He won't have anything to do with his son. Won't do a thing for him. What kind of man could do that?"

"I don't know."

She reached out and grabbed his arm. "You will be a father to him, won't you?"

Temple inwardly flinched at the word "father." That boy wasn't _his_ son. But he would not upset his wife any more than she already was. "Yes. If that's what you want."

"I want you to, but then, I worry about what will happen when spring comes."

"Why?"

"You'll go back to the battlefield. And he'll think you've left him too. Just like everyone else."

As winter passed, Javier was getting used to the idea of having Carlos live with them. Isabel finally had a family of her own and got to be the mother she always wanted to be. It suited her well. He didn't like the idea of adopting Carlos as his son, but he had no problem raising the little orphan Isabel had adopted—which is what she had effectively done. And after all, he did need an heir. Why not his nephew?

Javier was ready to leave again. His men were waiting on him. He had paused briefly to check that his young squire had properly prepared his horse when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned and saw his wife walking toward him leading the kid. "We've come to tell you goodbye," she said with a soft smile. The boy extended his hand, and his uncle shook it without a word. Carlos then climbed up on a fence while Isabel walked forward and embraced her husband.

"Why do you have to go, Uncle?" Carlos asked as he sat kicking his feet back and forth.

"Because that's what men do. We learn to fight, and when our liege calls, we fight for him."

"Why do you have to listen to him?"

"The King of Leon gives us the land. We give him our allegiance."

"Will you teach me to fight?"

"When you are ready."

"I'm ready now. I want to fight. Philippe killed my mother."

Javier stopped abruptly for a moment. The comment shocked him. Carlos had not mentioned her for a while. He was surprised at how the boy saw the situation. He met his wife's gaze who was also stunned at Carlos's observation. It was she who spoke. "Prince Philippe didn't . . . it was his army that rescued you. Don't you remember?" Javy agreed with his wife. He didn't really want to defend Philippe, but he thought the boy should at least remember the truth.

"He sent me away. Like he did my mother. And she died."

Javier was harboring a newfound respect for his little waif. "Yes, but Leon will win this war. The king is old, and Prince Philippe will take his place soon. But we won't let him be king long, will we?" He smiled at young Carlos who returned the grin.

"So you'll teach me?"

"Not today. If God spares me, when I return from war in the winter, I'll make you the best knight in the kingdom. The call me the 'Hammer of Leon,' but I will pale in comparison with you, Little One." The boy smiled, and Javier smiled back. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to teach you your first lesson. As a man, your first duty is to take care of your family. Remember, you're the man of the house while I'm away. Take care of your aunt."

"I will." With that Javier mounted his horse and rode away. Disturbed as she was that the boy was already planning Philippe's ultimate demise, she was glad that she was there to see him smile at her husband. And even more glad that Javy smiled back.

Javier returned as he promised somewhat disappointed this year. They had seemed so close to peace, but this year, war tilted in Philippe's favor. He kissed his wife and greeted the boy with a manly handshake. "You've grown taller," he said, noting the change in his nephew's appearance.

"Am I big enough to be a knight?" he asked with a light in his brown eyes.

He laughed at his enthusiasm. "Not quite. You start as a page like everyone else."

"Watch," his wife whispered. She tickled the boy, and he laughed. Javier was glad that he seemed happier than when he left—that some of the gloom of his past had lifted. "Look there, Javy. Did you see?" she said bringing him out of his reverie. Both men looked at each other in confusion. "You say he looks like his father, but his father didn't give him that."

"Give him what?"

"That smile. He has your smile. Your bright, perfect smile."

He couldn't help but grin. "Go play, Carlos." The boy ran off.

"He's beautiful, Javy. A sweet boy."

"Are you saying he'll have his own bastards someday?" he asked with a smile.

"I'm saying that I know I couldn't resist that smile."

He cupped her face and kissed her. "I'm sorry we couldn't have our own," he said.

"He needs us, Javy."

"I know. Is he still crying himself to sleep?"

"No. He stopped that months ago."

"Good. I'm moving him to the garrison in the morning."

"What? Why? What for?"

"It's time he started training. He'll start as a page. Just like I did."

"No. He's too young. He just got here. Let him have a moment's peace."

"He got here almost a year ago. He has to start some time. Besides, I promised him."

"Give him another year. Or two."

He sighed. "Isabel, it's time."

"No, it's not!" she whined. "I'm not completely ignorant of what you do. Pages start at the age of seven. He won't be seven for another year."

"I think he's ready."

"How would you know? You've been gone all summer. He thinks he's ready too. He also thinks he's ready to joust. Will you put him in armor on a horse tomorrow too? In fact, why don't you go ahead and knight him now and take him with you to the battlefield in the spring?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous." She looked hurt. He sighed. "You can have him for one more year. _One more year_. Then, he's mine."


	4. New Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The years passed, and Javier felt that his young ward was thriving. He had moved him to the garrison and stood aside. He kept an eye on him from afar, but he let the others handle his training. The boy was doing all right, but Javier knew he had a few problems with some of the other boys, but that was to be expected. He was after all a bastard, and not just any bastard—he was the bastard son of the enemy. He did not interfere with the situation. He knew it was important for the boy to learn to stand up for himself. No one would or should fight his battles for him. As a young man he had learned this lesson. He had learned to depend on no one. His ward would learn this sooner, and it would be better for him, even if he currently spent much of his time battered and bruised with no real friends. The boy was strong and smart. He would learn to survive. One day, he would get mad enough to decide he wasn't going to be trampled on anymore, and until that day, Don Temple was determined to leave him be. He just wished his wife would do the same.

He was looking for her at the moment. She had never shown up for dinner. It was not uncommon for her to miss a meal. Or at least, it used to not be uncommon. While they were desperately trying to have children, Isabel would go into the small chapel and pray, sometimes spending all day cloistered away with no sense of time. Javy hadn't found her there in a long time—not since young Carlos had come to live with them. But now she was missing, and it seemed the most likely place to find her. Maybe now that Carlos was in the garrison she was feeling lonely and depressed again. He eased open the door, and there she was. He almost hated that he had been right. She sat at the foot of the altar sobbing. He felt his own heart break a little as he slowly approached her. He knelt beside her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw him. She rested her head against his chest, and he held her while she cried softly. She whispered his name. He kissed the top of her head. "It's all right. I know."

"No," she said wiping her face.

"It's okay. Come on. We're going to bed," he said lifting her off the floor. He carried her to their room and set her on the bed. She said nothing. Only clung to him. "You'll feel better in the morning," he said as he removed her slippers.

She leaned over and touched his face. "You don't understand. I'm not sad."

He smiled softly reaching up to wipe a tear from her cheek. "You sure fooled me."

She wiped all the moisture from her face. "It's not what you think."

"What is it then? Is it Carlos?"

"No. . . But I think God may be rewarding us for taking him in." She smiled. "Or maybe rewarding _you_. He knew all along I'd raise him as my own."

Javier grinned. "I'm not following you, Is'. What reward should I be expecting from the Almighty?"

She caressed his face. "How would you like a child of your own?" she asked.

He looked away. "Is', we've talked about this."

"No, Javy, I'm trying to tell you. . . . Javy, we're going to have a baby—a baby of our own."

He leaned back on his heels and stared at her confused. "But . . . after all this time . . . are you sure?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't have told you if I wasn't sure."

Javy thought for a second. He then jumped up and pulled her into his arms feeling a few tears on his own cheeks.

Philippe sat in his own courtyard staring up at the starry sky. His father had died almost three years ago, and the responsibilities of being king weighed heavy on his mind. He dreaded the return of spring knowing it would be the return to battle. He knew what his father would say—that he was just being weak, but he had had enough of war.

Just after the death of his father, he had a son. He wished his father had lived long enough to see that. Maybe he would have received one word of praise. But not long after, the newly crowned queen died leaving Philippe with a kingdom at war and an infant son, and he wasn't sure which one scared him more. Tristan had become a sort of pet of the knights in the garrison. He was a likeable, happy child, and Philippe worried about him. He did not want his son to see what he had seen. If it were up to him, Tristan would reign in peace. It might take years, but he would conquer Leon. And if he could not, he would sue for peace. The current King of Leon would only settle for a complete and embarrassing surrender, but he couldn't live forever, and he was no longer a young man. Perhaps his son would see reason. Philippe had just seen so many sons die on the field of battle. He had no desire to hear of the death of his own son, much less witness it. He also kept in mind young Carlos. It had been several years, but he hadn't forgotten him or his family. War had destroyed that boy's life. _He_ had destroyed that boy's life. And he knew there were others like him. His own armies were full of them. The Carlos situation unnerved him more so because it was closer to him, and if only to make things worse, they had sent him to Temple. He was a more than capable knight but stern and harsh. He had killed many of those sons, and the King of Leon continually rewarded his faithful service. He knew Temple hated his own father for tolerating his stay all those years ago. The man hated his whole family, the boy included, and they had sent that poor, traumatized child to a harsh man with no mercy who hated him. Philippe sighed. Now that his father was dead, if he had the chance, he'd save that boy and bring him back where he belonged. He let out a long breath. He needed rest.

Philippe walked back into the castle on his way to bed. Tristan ran up the hall and greeted him. Philippe grabbed him into his arms and tickled him. "Why aren't you in bed yet, huh?" Tristan laughed. Philippe sat Tristan on his shoulders. He held on by handfuls of Philippe's hair, but he did not seem to notice the inconvenience. He carried him to his room and set him down. Tristan grabbed his hand, or rather, a couple of his fingers.

"Horse," he said tugging him toward his toys. "Knights."

"No, Mejo, it's time for bed." He picked up Tristan and tucked him in. He sat with his young son until he fell asleep. He smoothed his dark hair and kissed his forehead. He would find peace. Yes, he would find peace if it killed him.

Carlos had heard the news about the new baby. He had been excited at first. But then the months passed, and he had time to think. They told him he was going to be a big brother, but he knew better. When the baby arrived, they would have a child of their own, and he would be forgotten. He would be back to having nothing—just the bastard of an enemy knight. But he reminded himself that he was being trained as a knight. He could make a name for himself just like his uncle had. He stood in the stable brushing the mane of the horse as he tried to make plans for his future. He knew he was good, but he also knew that wasn't enough. He would have to be great. He would just have to work harder that's all. There was a knock on the wall of the stall. He looked out. His uncle stood there smiling. "Come and see, Boy." He followed his uncle down the halls to his room. Isabel sat in their bed holding a small bundle.

"There's my little man," she said upon seeing him. "Come here, Carlos." He stepped slowly toward her. She smiled at his hesitation. "Are you afraid? It's only a baby. See." He looked down at the little face. "Carlos, I'd like you to meet your sister, Aracely."

"My sister?"

"Yes, here," she said handing him the baby. "Watch her head." Carlos watched her grunt and squirm. As he held this tiny person in his arms, he was almost relieved. A girl was no real threat to him, but he also felt guilty for the feeling. "You're a big brother now. It's part of your job now to watch out for her."

Carlos held the baby for a few moments until Javier took her from him and handed her to her mother. "Come along, Boy. Let's let them rest."

Javier led him through the halls and to the door. "You can make it back to the garrison, can't you? It's late. You should be in bed. Tell your master I said you are not to shirk any of your duties. Isabel wants to celebrate, but all in good time. There is work to be done."

"Uncle?" he asked.

Javier saw the boy had been thinking on their walk and wanted to talk. "What is it?"

"Aunt Isabel said I have to look out for my sister."

"That's what brothers are for. Is that a problem for you?"

"My mother was _your_ sister."

Javier was silenced by the question, and he thought long before answering. The boy didn't speak of his mother much—in fact, not since before he was made a page. And when he did have questions, he directed them to Isabel—not him. At the very mention of his sister, Javy felt his anger rising, but he wasn't sure the ten year old would understand why he was angry. He didn't know how to answer the boy. He finally shrugged. "She betrayed the King of Leon. After that, I couldn't protect her and Isabel too. She made a choice, and I couldn't protect her anymore. . . . Is that all?"

Carlos shifted nervously, staring at the floor. Javy inwardly hoped that it wasn't because he had heard and understood the bitter edge to his voice. "Are you disappointed?" the boy asked so softly that Javier barely heard him.

"What do you mean? Disappointed about what?"

"The baby."

"Carlos, I've wanted a child for so long—since before you were born. Why would I be disappointed?"

"Did you want a boy?"

"What?"

Carlos still wouldn't look at him. "If you had a son, you'd have an heir. You'd—"

His uncle now understood what was bothering him. He interrupted him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me, Boy. Let's get one thing straight. You are my ward. I have a son."

Carlos bit his lip and thought for a moment. "You don't want me here."

Javy was surprised by the statement. "Of course I want you here. Why would you say something like that?"

"When I first came here, you told that man to take me back. You only kept me because you had no children."

Javier was stunned that he not only remembered that but had correctly interpreted his feelings on the matter. He knelt down and looked his nephew in the eye and didn't mince words. "You're right. I did. I thought you should be with the man who was responsible for you. And if you remember what I said, you must remember that they didn't want you either. But their loss is Leon's gain. We will make Philippe and his kingdom pay. That was my family that died too. And all because of him."

"You still think I'll be a good knight?"

"Boy, if I have anything to do with it, you will be more than 'good.' Now, I have to get back to Isabel. You go on to bed. Get some sleep. Training starts early."

"Unhand him!" the old knight ran into the group of boys and started pulling them off each other trying to get to the one he knew would be at the bottom of the pile. The last one he pulled toward him so he could look him in the eye. "I'll see you punished for this." He tossed him aside and offered an arm to the boy who was being tormented. Poor Carlos. He had been nothing but trampled on since his uncle moved him to the garrison four years ago. His face was red, and the old man knew it would be bruised in the morning. His nose was bleeding all the way down his chin onto his shirt. Carlos took his hand and stood even if he was a bit unsteady. "You all right, Carlos?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

The old man noticed the boys had gotten quiet. He turned and saw his master Don Temple. He just stood there sternly, staring down everyone there. The old knight began to tremble. He feared and respected his master even though he was almost twice his age. He knew he would have to answer for this. He began to think of an excuse for why the situation had gotten out of hand again, but it was Temple who spoke first. "Carlos, come with me," he said flatly and turned and began walking out to the fields.

The boy, staring at the ground, followed his uncle. One of the others shoved him as he walked past knowing that Temple's back was turned. Carlos took it and continued walking away. "Good luck, Kid," the old man whispered, hoping that his master wouldn't be too hard on the boy.

Javier Temple paced along the fence while Carlos stood before him silently awaiting his chastisement. He finally sighed and swore. "I can't talk to you like this. Wipe the blood off your face." Carlos wiped his nose and chin on the sleeve and hem of his shirt. "What was it this time?"

"They call me names. They always call me names."

"Like what? Bastard?" he replied angrily. "Why does that surprise you? In case you haven't noticed, _you are a bastard_, Carlos. And you're gonna have to square with that some day." His uncle continued to pace fitfully. "Look, you should understand. I'm not angry that you get into fights all the time. There comes a time in every man's life that he has to learn to stand up for himself. I'm angry that you lose. What do you think you're gonna do on a battlefield?" Carlos shrugged. "You fight under my colors, and I'll not have you shaming my good name," his uncle said with a slight grin. He knelt before his nephew and held up the palm of his hand. "Hit me. Strike my hand like you do those hooligans." Carlos threw a punch into his palm. "That's it? No wonder you're losing. Again. Hit me." Carlos tried harder, but his uncle used his free hand to slap the side of his head. After several minutes of such teasing, Carlos finally blocked the blow of his uncle and threw a stinging punch into his uncle's palm. "That's more like it. Again. From your shoulder. Put your weight behind it." Carlos continued the exercise, blocking his uncle's blows, protecting his head, and sending punches into his uncle's palm while his uncle gave him more advice. "Good. Now, look at me. I don't want to hear of you losing another fight. Stand up to them, but pick your battles, and do it wisely. Be smart. You prove yourself, and they'll let you be. Understand?" Carlos nodded. Javier stood and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "Now, since we're having this conversation, never strike a woman or a child."

"But, Uncle, I am a child."

"Right. Never strike a woman or someone smaller than you. It's not a fair fight." The boy nodded. "Now go get your things. We'll go for a hunt. Yeah?" The boy nodded again and scampered off. Javier saw one of his older knights approaching. As he hesitated, Javier nodded giving him permission to approach.

"What do you want me to do with the others?"

"What do you mean?"

"What punishment should I give them?"

"Don't worry about it. Leave them be."

"Sir?" the old man asked confused. Some of the names those boys called that lad's mother made him turn red with rage, and he didn't even know the girl. In his time, boys that size didn't know words like that. And now his master was going to let them get away with it without even the slightest reprimand? Or even acknowledgement of wrong?

"I hope I took care of it. How is Carlos doing with his other duties? You don't treat him special because he's my nephew, do you?"

"No. Same as everyone else. Just like you said. He does fine. He's generally pretty quiet. Obedient. He has potential. I'd consider him one of the best if I didn't have to keep him under my thumb for fighting all the time."

"Well, there'll be at least one more good fight. Then it should quiet down a little out here."

"What did you tell him? I mean, the boy can take a punch. God knows, he's been given plenty. But you can only take so much before you're beaten down."

"Just do me one favor."

"Anything, My Lord."

"They fight again, and I want you to keep it fair. Don't let 'em gang up on him. And don't cheat in his favor either. Keep it fair. He has to learn to stand on his own." The old knight looked away. "What is it?"

"It's not my place, Sir."

"It's all right. Whatever you say won't leave this field. Tell me."

"Your wife?"

Temple sighed. "I know. I'll deal with that too."

"Javy? Those squires of yours attacked Carlos again. You said you were handling it. I want those boys disciplined. Carlos said they weren't punished. Why do you hate him so? Have you ordered your squires to beat him to keep him in his place? Just to torment me?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't expected the attack this soon. He sighed. "You know I haven't. I don't hate him. They're not squires; they're other pages. And I _am_ taking care of it."

"How?"

"You have to trust me."

"But . . ."

Temple cupped her face. "Darling, Isabel, _you have to trust me_."

"I just don't want to see him hurt."

"Well, you might better get used to it. He is training to be a knight."

"That's not what I meant. It's not the bloody noses. They're bruising his spirit."

There was a moment of silence. "Look, I'm not treating him any different than my father treated me."

"Do you even hear what you're saying? You hated the man!"

"Because he was a traitor! Not because I thought he was too hard on me." She turned away. He walked up behind her and put an arm around her and kissed her neck. "Just trust me to handle it."

He felt her sigh. "He's in your world now. I trust you."

After a few days, Javier Temple sat at the head of his table finishing off his afternoon meal. His steward was reading off figures while he commented absently every so often so the man would think he was listening. He watched his squires and pages as they served him, his knights, and his guests. One of Carlos's frequent agitators was wearing a busted lip as well as a black eye. Carlos approached carrying a pitcher. Temple could tell that the only bruise Carlos had on his face was a few days old due to the yellowish color. When Carlos reached for his uncle's cup, Javier grabbed his wrist and studied his knuckles. They were red and bruised.

"I did what you said," Carlos said softly with a grin.

"I see." He released him. "They still give you a hard time?" He shook his head. "Good."

"They still call me Carlos the Bastard. But they're not teasing anymore."

Javier smiled. "They know your name and fear it. Good. Back to your duties."

Javier saw his wife watching the interchange. He sighed. She did not look pleased.

"He got into another fight again, didn't he?" she asked when they were alone. Temple didn't answer. He walked past her into the room and began getting dressed for bed.

"Where's Aracely?"

"She's asleep, and don't change the subject. You said you were taking care of it!"

"I did. He _won_ this fight. They'll leave him alone now that he's not fun to pick on."

"That's how you 'handled it'? You taught him to fight?"

"What do you think I moved him to the garrison for? He's training to become a knight. What do you think I'm teaching him?"

"You should have punished those boys."

"I let Carlos do that."

"They should learn to respect their fellow page."

"They have. I can't _make_ them respect anyone. I taught Carlos how to earn it."

Tearing up, she shook her head. "You don't love him. You never did."

"What?" he asked stunned. He didn't see how love was relevant to this discussion.

"You promised you'd treat him as your own!"

"I do! I'd do the same with a boy of my own. Just because I don't baby him like you do does not mean I don't treat him as I would my own. I'll spare you what takes place on the battlefield, Woman, but I will say that if I could, I'd have him grapple with anyone he could get his hands on. It's good practice and an important skill to learn."

"But you don't even touch him. You don't hug him or . . . or anything. He repulses you."

"_I'm not going to baby him!_ I'm teaching him to be a man."

"He's just a little boy."

"And he always will be if you don't let him grow up!" She made for the door. "Where are you going?"

"To see him. He needs me."

He grabbed her arm and kept her there. "Oh, no, you are not leaving this room. The last thing he needs is for you to go to him and kiss his wounds, rock him to sleep, and tuck him in. You think he was teased before? . . . He's had a victory. Let him enjoy it."

She jerked free and slumped down into a chair. "You've corrupted my sweet little boy."

His voice softened. "He's still your boy. But he's not so little anymore. . . . You used to say I was sweet."

"I'm beginning to wonder. . . ." Javier's tone had calmed her. She tried to smile with her comment, but it was obvious that she was still upset.

"I've given Philippe's soldiers more than bloody noses and busted lips. You do realize what I will be asking of Carlos? When I take him onto a battlefield . . ."

"He's just a boy!"

"_When I take him_, I'll need him to take his sword and run another man through. Men with families—wives and sons of their own. Men he knows. Men he's seen and competed against at tournaments and the like. I need him to kill without hesitation. To hesitate is to be killed. I need him to do that, and if he can't, he will be worthless as a knight."

"Maybe we should have had him join the church."

He chuckled. "You know you don't want that. You want him to marry. And have children so you can have grandchildren to play with."

"Then I shall pray for peace. This war has gone on long enough."

"Perhaps your little Carlos will be the one to end it." He reached out and stroked her arm. She brushed him aside. "You can't still be mad at me." She said nothing. "Your Carlos is fine. I'll bring him to you myself in the morning. . . . His voice is changing. Have you noticed?"

She smiled in spite of herself. "He called out to me a few days ago, and I barely recognized him. He's starting to sound so grown up. He showed me a hair on his chin. He thinks he's growing a beard."

"You should be proud of him. He's a good boy."

"Are _you_ proud of him?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," he said realizing that he _was_ proud to call the boy his nephew. The boy had heart and skill. He was raising a little knight that was going to absolutely decimate Philippe's forces. And he was proud of that.

"You're proud that he beat up another page?"

"Not really. I'm proud that he stood up for himself."

"They still treat him like a bastard. So do you."

"They always will because that's what he is. They'll learn to respect him. Just like that page."

"Will he have to beat up every man in Leon?"

He laughed. "I hope not. That's what reputations are for."

"Like yours?" She sighed in frustration and got up. He grabbed her wrist.

"Why don't you stay?"

"Not tonight."

Javy woke up alone. He crawled out of bed and dressed. He found her watching their daughter sleep. He wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered kissing the side of her head.

"Are you?" she asked softly.

He paused. "I'm sorry that you're hurt."

"Why are you so hard on them?"

"'_Them'_?"

"Carlos and the rest of your family."

He sighed. "I took that boy in when nobody else wanted him—even his own father. I've raised him as my own just like you wanted. I don't know what else you want from me."

"He's only a boy. You threw him into that garrison as soon as he was old enough and left him to fend for himself. You're supposed to protect him."

"I am. But I'm also teaching him to protect himself. I won't be around forever."

She squeezed his arm. "I thought I told you not to talk that way in front of me."

"But it's true. You know it is. And if something were to happen to me, I want to know I've left you in good hands. He'll be fine. I promise."

Javier rode back into camp from the fray. He removed his helmet and jerked off the chainmail coif and shoved it inside. "Squire!" he called. Carlos ran up to him. He was thirteen now and growing into a knight. Temple was greatly pleased with his progress. He tossed him his helmet which he caught and slid off his horse. Carlos took the horse.

"How did the battle go?" Carlos asked.

"Fair. We lost a few swordsmen. We'll need to replenish their numbers when we return home."

"I'll take their place."

Temple sat and, with aid from another squire, began removing the rest of his heavy armor. He felt he was getting too old for this, but he still chuckled at Carlos. "Your aunt would kill me. Besides, you're still too young."

"I can fight!"

"I know. You can fight squires in a practice ring. And you're very good. But you're still too young for this."

"Don Temple!" Recognizing the voice of his liege Don Reyes, brother of the King of Leon, Javier stood. Carlos politely excused himself in order to see to the horse. "Excellent work today. I believe we shall call today's exploits a victory for Leon."

"My pleasure is always to serve you, My Liege," Javier bowed.

"Yes, and your prowess in arms has not gone unnoticed. Perhaps an advancement of your fortunes is in order. What would you like? Gold? Horses? A larger fief perhaps?"

"Actually, I would like to request a favor of you. It concerns my ward."

"Your ward? You adopted a child?"

"Yes, I'm the guardian of a rather able squire."

"I had no idea."

"Well, strictly speaking, he's my nephew. My sister's son."

Don Reyes remembered what had happened to the rest of Temple's family. "He survived all those years ago?"

"And been living with me since—fighting Philippe ever since. He blames him for killing his mother. Always has. Anyway, I thought that maybe you could take him on. It would be a demonstration of my loyalty and give the boy a chance to train with the best."

Don Reyes studied his vassal. "Is there another reason you're so eager to give him up? Something wrong with him? A troublemaker?"

"No, no. He's the best squire I've trained in a long time. Better than I ever was. And I apologize. I should have sent him to you long ago. But now, I worry, you see. It's my wife. Since we went so long without children, she sees Carlos as her own and is extremely over protective. Before, I was worried that sending him to you so soon would break her heart, but now, I think getting them apart will be good for both of them."

Don Reyes nodded. "How old is this squire?"

"Thirteen. Turns fourteen in the fall."

Reyes thought for a moment. "Consider it done. When the season is over, take him home. Let him celebrate the harvest with his family. Say his good-byes. Then send him to me after Michaelmas."

Isabel walked slowly through the gardens. She understood why Javy was sending him away. It would be good for him. But it still hurt to know he would be so far away where they wouldn't be able to look out for him. She heard his energetic gait and smiled to herself. He came around the corner smiling at her. He was almost grown, and he was growing into a handsome man. His short brown hair was slightly disheveled by the breeze, and there was a light in his light brown eyes. As much as Javier thought he was, he was _not_ an exact copy of his father. And he was much like her husband. He had his smile and his temper. He was a knight at heart with a strict sense of justice, but he was a perfect gentleman too. "You wanted to see me?" She could see the excitement in his expresssion. He was ready to leave in the morning. She just wished she was more ready to send him off.

"Yes. Will you walk with me awhile?"

"Sure."

They walked side by side through the gardens. She wanted time, but she could feel his impatience even though he would never have admitted it to her. He may have had few friends, but on the eve of his journey, the young man had other plans besides entertaining his aunt. "I may not see you for awhile, and I wanted to speak with you alone." He didn't reply but allowed her to continue. "You don't speak of your mother anymore."

He was taken off guard. He thought a moment before he replied. "She died. All my memories of my life before I came here . . . well, they are less than pleasant."

"Are you not curious about her at all?"

"I've heard enough about her," he said, unsuccessfully disguising his bitterness.

"Carlos, I was her friend. You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"I know. I don't. I just . . . it doesn't matter."

"And your father? Are you not curious about him?"

"Even if I was, no one knows anything. She probably didn't even know who he was."

"That's why you shouldn't believe everything. There was one man," Isabel replied sternly.

"It wouldn't matter anyway. She took that secret to her grave."

Isabel took a deep breath and stopped walking. "No, Carlos, she didn't. You and your mother stayed with me for a few days when you were very small. She told me everything."

"What?"

She nervously began wringing her hands. His expression was intense. She would have to tell him now. "I thought you should know . . . when you were old enough . . . you are still so young, but I may not see you for a long time, and . . . Carlos, if I tell you what I know, you must swear not to tell anyone. Not even your uncle. He doesn't know that I know. And if he did . . ."

"Tell me."

He was curious and eager, but she was still unsure. He would have sworn his life away for the information she had, but she would not risk Javy finding out. If he knew, it would be the death of him. "No, Carlos, you must promise. You should know the truth, but not at the risk of destroying our family."

He put a hand on her arm to calm her. "I swear. Please. Tell me what you know."

"This way, Squire." Carlos followed the large, aging knight. The knight, Sir Valentine, led him into the garrison and turned and assessed his new charge. Carlos stood taller meeting the challenge. Valentine only shook his head. The boy was lanky, and at that awkward stage where his arms and legs were disproportionate to the rest of his body. Despite his age, he already had stern features. Maybe he was just trying to hide fear. He was tall, but Valentine would have been surprised if he made it over six feet. At least his appearance was neat and clean. His complexion wasn't overly dark or overly fair, and his brown hair was cut short. There was an intensity in his eyes that concerned Valentine. He recognized it. Rage. Stubbornness. Ruthlessness. Strength. This was a boy that needed to be controlled. He wasn't sure he had it in him anymore to train such a one, but it was a task that had been given to him, and he would do his best. The boy would need to be humbled but not too much. He didn't want to crush or even curb the boy's power. He wanted to unleash it on Philippe and his armies. The boy would be valuable if trained right. He ran a hand over the stubble on his cheeks as he thought. "Roldan!" he called. Another squire walked in. Roldan was an older, taller squire that had been serving Don Reyes since he was a young page. "This is Carlos Temple. He's new. Show him around."

Carlos was given the tour by Roldan. He was trying to contain his excitement. This place was larger than his uncle's. There were more men—squires and knights. It was different. He knew his uncle was keeping his promise. This is where he'd be trained to be the best. He saw a girl. She smiled at him. He smiled back. Oh, he was gonna like this place.

"Who's your friend, Roldan?" she asked.

Roldan walked over to her and put his arm around her—sending Carlos a clear signal to stay away. "He's nobody. Just some ward of some poor country knight that Don Reyes took on as a favor." Carlos was wounded by the remark, but he would not have commented on it had it not been for what he said next.

"Ward?" she asked. "What about your parents?"

Roldan answered for him. "He's the bastard of some whore . . ."

"My mother wasn't a whore. No more than she is," he said bitterly.

Roldan left the teenage girl and approached Carlos angrily. "You watch your tongue, or I will personally rip it from your throat."

Carlos was being challenged. He did not glare back, but he did keep a steady gaze without backing away. His uncle had told him to be smart about picking his fights. This was not smart—not here in the dark, on his first night, with Roldan's friends milling about. "What? Not so brave now? You gonna talk like that you better be able to back it up, Carlos the Bastard."

"I can back it up. Just not here and not now."

"You were hot stuff back home, weren't you? The best squire in a bunch of stupid country bastards like that isn't saying much. You are on _my _turf now." Roldan had a point. He was a few years older, a head taller, and twice his bulk, but it would take more than that to intimidate Carlos.

"We'll see," Carlos said with a smirk and walked away.

Sir Valentine wanted to get a look at his new squire. He had shown some skill in the morning's exercises. Now, he wanted to see him in a real melee. He told young Temple to get ready. The other squires began to form around him ready to watch. He approached Roldan. "Humble him," he said quietly.

"Gladly," he said smirking, and he drew his sword. Valentine shook his head and handed him a wooden practice sword. "You're making this too easy—taking away all the challenge."

"Just humble him."

They began, and Valentine studied his new squire. He was impressed that he even had time to study the boy, but Roldan was probably toying with him. Then, he realized that wasn't the case, and he swore under his breath. It was the other way around. Roldan was stronger, but Temple was fast. Roldan may have been older, and they were both arrogant, but Temple had a quality that he didn't expect to see in one so young or cocky. He fought smart and with patience. While Valentine was assessing Temple, he was doing the same with Roldan. Valentine pinched the bridge of his nose. Watch this not go like he had planned. Roldan hit the dirt, and he swore again. Temple stood with his sword resting on his shoulder with that cocky grin on his face. Valentine walked over and jerked Roldan up by the arm. "What did I tell you about being too arrogant?" he whispered. He turned his back to Temple and faced Roldan. "Do what you have to do to beat him," he said softly enough that only Roldan heard him.

"You want me to cheat?"

"_Do what you have to do to beat him_."

"My pleasure."

He watched Roldan cheat and still not beat him. He rubbed his chest. That boy was gonna kill him. He walked back over, jerked Roldan up, took his sword, and shoved him back toward the others. If Roldan couldn't humble him, he would. He knew he wasn't as fast as the boy was. At least, not anymore. But he was stronger than even Roldan and far more experienced. For the first round, he knocked him to the dirt easily. "Get up," he said coldly. The boy followed his command. The second, he knocked him down again. This time, knocking him in the head—giving him a cut near his hair line. He leaned down. "Let's get one thing straight, Son. You're not nearly as good as you think you are." He stood, turned, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Neither is he," Carlos said.

He turned back. The boy had stood and stared at Roldan. "What?" Valentine said.

"He's not as good as he thinks he is either."

Roldan shoved his way through the crowd and was forcibly making his way to him, but Valentine grabbed him and threw him back. He looked back at Carlos Temple who stared at both of them, not at all bothered by the blood dripping down the side of his face. Valentine rubbed his chest again. That boy would be the death of him.

Late that night, Carlos made his way to his bed. Valentine had assigned him plenty of extra duties because of his insolence. He wasn't afraid of hard work. He was used to a little abuse. He was a survivor. He could take it until he was able to prove himself. He was conscious of and even a little pleased that he had upset the balance of power. Don Reyes, brother to the king himself, would have to take notice of him and his abilities. He was in a perfect position to make a name for himself. He looked up to see Roldan blocking his path. He stood waiting with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Carlos said nothing. He stopped walking and stood firm. He watched the shadows from the corner of his eye. It appeared they were alone.

"Carlos the Bastard returns from his labor."

"My name is Temple."

"It's dangerous to have your attitude and walk about alone at night."

"I don't need an escort. I can hold my own. Even against a coward and a cheat like you."

Roldan rushed him, but Carlos easily blocked his blow and shoved him to the ground. Carlos was about to ready himself for a fight, but before his attacker had even landed, Carlos was rushed from all sides by Roldan's allies. They held him back while Roldan stood to his feet. "Coward!" Carlos called struggling to free himself.

Roldan walked over deliberately. He backhanded him across the face. "That's for your insolence earlier today." He struck him again. "That's for just now." He kneed him in the groin. "And that's for the way you looked at my girl." Carlos was allowed to sink to his knees where he remained doubled over. One of Roldan's blows had reopened his wound and blood flowed down his face. Roldan pulled out a dagger and grabbed him by his hair. "It's time you were taught some manners."

Don Reyes looked up when Sir Valentine entered. "You wanted to see me?" Reyes asked.

"Do something else with that kid."

"What? The Temple boy?"

"I can't do anything with him."

"Why? Discipline problem? I've seen you deal with some real problem cases. You can't handle this one?"

He sighed heavily. "It's not that. He does what I tell him, follows the rules."

"Then what's the problem?"

"He's an arrogant little snot!" he sighed. "He's good. _Really_ good. And he knows it."

Reyes shrugged. "So you humble him a little."

Valentine slumped into a chair. "I tried. He beat Roldan. I even let him cheat. Carlos still beat him _easily_."

"Really?"

"Yes. And some of the other lads shaved his head. As a punishment. To shame him. Gave him a pretty good beating too. I think all they succeeded in doing was pissing him off. He has that look in his eyes. He's lying in wait. I have no doubt he will get revenge somehow. He's just waiting for an opportunity."

"Where is he now?"

"Mucking the stables. And when he's done, he's polishing my armor until I can see my face in it. And when he's done with that, he's gonna do it again. If you don't assign him to someone else, I just might kill him."

Reyes thought for a moment. "Which one's better? Who would you want beside you in battle? Temple or Roldan?"

Valentine sighed in defeat. "Temple. Not that Roldan is bad. In terms of skill, they're almost equals. I think this is a game to Roldan that he plays well. He'll be knighted, get a few years experience, retire, and run his estate. Carlos Temple is a soldier. There's a fire in him. And an iron will. Do you know when Roldan beat up Temple, he cut his hand while trying to shave his head. He didn't show up for his duties. He was 'hurt.' Temple had one eye so swollen he could barely see. Not to mention the other injuries he was hiding, and he was at work before dawn."

"Other injuries?"

"Boy's too stubborn for his own good. But turns out he had a few bruised ribs, and the surgeon was also worried about the blows to his head."

"He's all right though?"

"Yeah, I didn't push him too hard today."

"And Roldan?"

"I haven't said anything about last night. In part, because neither have they. Everything I've told you, I've just assumed. If it happens again, I'll have to say something. He's just threatened by Temple. I'm hoping Temple will inspire him to be even better. Keep him around fighting once some blood is spilt. If only to save face."

"See. They're good for each other. Give it a few more weeks. If you're still of the same mind, we'll move him. Even if we have to send him back."

"Don't send him back. The boy's too good to lose."

"I think you like Temple more than you're saying."

"Boy has some spunk."

"Don Temple was that way for awhile—after he left his family. Once he earned a little respect, he wasn't as difficult to live with."

Valentine rose to leave. "Well, if I kill him, it's your fault."

"Temple! Mount your horse and meet us in the lists!" Valentine called.

Carlos's face broke into a wide smile. He hadn't been allowed to touch a weapon all week. "You're gonna let me joust!"

"No. Roldan needs practice with a human target. You're the target. You are not to strike him. Understand?"

"You hear that, Squire?" Roldan called out.

Carlos heard him. Roldan's teasing him hadn't stopped. He was practically begging Carlos to do something he would regret later. So far, he had kept his mouth shut. He knew Roldan would get what was coming to him, and he didn't want Valentine any more angry with him than he already was. He and his new friend Teo were waiting in the lists for Roldan and Valentine. Don Reyes stood nearby watching. Roldan raised his lance to signal he was ready. Teo handed Carlos a lance, and he did the same. They charged, and Carlos, no longer willing to swallow his pride, saw his opportunity. He disobeyed Valentine and struck Roldan squarely in the chest.

"Temple!" Valentine called running at them. Carlos tossed the broken lance aside. "What did you do that for?"

Carlos shrugged. "Oops."

Valentine turned red. "Another lance. Another pass," he said angrily. The two squires returned to their posts, and Valentine walked over to Don Reyes. "You see what I mean?"

Don Reyes smiled. "Why the hell did you give that boy a lance in the first place?"

Valentine shrugged helplessly. "You're right. I swear, if I thought he'd survive it, I'd take that shield from him too." He walked over to Carlos and Teo. Roldan signaled he was ready. Teo picked up a lance. "No. No, Teo." Carlos turned his head toward him. Valentine looked through the slits in the visor at the boy's eyes. "You think you're funny, don't you? Now, I'm the one laughing."

Carlos rode toward Roldan and took a shot right on the shield. "Again!" Valentine called out and watched as Carlos was hit repeatedly. He couldn't deny that there was some sense of satisfaction watching that boy get put in his place.

The next few days, Valentine watched Carlos carefully. Something had changed about the boy, but it was not a change he liked. He was suddenly losing to squires his own age. He no longer had the stamina or the focus he had before. Another knight approached him. "Temple? Your squire?"

"Yeah, have _you_ figured out what's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure. But you were right. He is favoring that arm."

"Thanks." The other knight walked away. He watched the boy. He and Teo were sitting on a fence laughing. "Temple!" he called. The boy ran over. Valentine offered him his sword. Confused, Carlos reached for it. "No. Other hand." Carlos switched hands. He gripped it with his left hand and held it. Valentine saw him flinch, but he did as he was asked. "Can you swing it?"

"Yeah."

"Do it." Carlos swallowed hard and began to sweat. He swore under his breath and dropped the sword. "What's wrong with the arm?"

"It's fine," he said shortly staring down the older man.

"_What's wrong with the arm?_" Valentine repeated more forcefully. That boy was hurt again and was too proud to admit it. He was going to get killed one of these days if he didn't learn to recognize his limits. Carlos rolled up his sleeve and offered it to his master. Valentine pulled his arm closer to examine it up close. He heard his sharp intake of breath. He looked at the arm which was swollen and bruised badly. "What happened?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Apparently being a target doesn't agree with me."

"How bad is it?"

"I haven't shirked any of my duties," he said defensively.

"That's not what I said. Does it stop at the elbow or go all the way up to your shoulder?"

"The bruising at the elbow. But sometimes the pain shoots all the way up."

"Go see the surgeon."

"I'll be fine."

"Go see the surgeon, Squire," he said smiling. "We both know if Roldan had a bruise less than half that size he wouldn't get out of bed. I wouldn't worry about anyone thinking you're weak. Look, I want that arm healed right so you can best Roldan on another day. You can't beat him with only one good arm. You're good but not that good. Okay?"

"Okay."

A few years had passed, and Carlos had distinguished himself, but he was having trouble ignoring some news he had heard, and it was effecting his skill. His mistakes were making him increasingly more frustrated. He rode his horse full gallop at the flag, but when he reached down to snatch it, it slipped through his hand. He rode over to the knight overseeing their exercises. "It's too low. Did you see that?" The knight virtually ignored him as he tried to blame the squire who had set up the challenge. He was so frustrated that he missed the small joust ring as well. His first attempt clanged into the metal support, breaking the lance and sending the shard into a crowd of pages. His second attempt, he flat out missed and threw the lance in frustration.

"Squire!" Valentine called.

"What?"

"What did I tell you about letting your emotions get the better of you? You lose focus."

"Sorry," he said flatly.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I heard you were knighting Roldan."

"You heard right."

"You're knighting _Roldan?_ It's not fair. He fights _only_ when he has the advantage. It's why he won't fight me in a fair fight anymore. He only fights when he knows he'll win. I'm twice the squire he is."

"He's older than you and ready. You're not."

"I am!"

"No. For one thing that attitude of yours. Lose it. And as punishment for your insolence, I'm making you his squire."

"What? You can't do that. He hates me."

"I think serving him for a while will be good for you." And Valentine secretly hoped that once Roldan got on a battlefield, despite the blood and the wounds and the dying, Roldan would stand firm—not wanting to be outdone by his squire, Carlos the Bastard.


	5. New Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Matias de Soledad knew he was getting too old to lead troops on the field. From his horse, he watched men fight and die as he had for years. As the day drew to a close, however, he saw something that impressed him, and that meant something. After years on a battlefield, it took a great feat to even attract his notice. A young squire of Leon fought bravely in the rain even after his knight fled in panic. The boy would die before retreating. His courage and determination was not lost on Matias. He rode over to where one of Philippe's knights along with his squire were about to finish him off. The young, brave squire, alone and outnumbered, finally fell. "Wait!" Matias called out. Weaponless, the boy looked up at him from the mud. "He's no danger now. Bind him."

"But—"

"No. He may prove useful. No need to waste this chance. He may bring in a ransom."

Matias sent word to the king that they had won the field and that they had captured a rather able squire. He hoped the boy was some nobleman's son and worth something. Although, his skill alone would have made him valuable to Matias. "Julio," he called to another of his squires. "Send word to the soldiers of Leon that they may return to the field to retrieve their dead."

The squire gave him a hard look. "They would not do the same, Sir Matias."

"It doesn't matter. You know the mind and heart of King Philippe. Send the message. Where is the squire we captured?" Julio directed him. He stepped into the tent that was guarded fairly well. The boy he so admired glared at him with undisguised hatred. He had been stripped of his weapons and armor and now sat bound. With the rain, he was wet. With winter setting in, Matias knew he was probably cold, but if he was in any way afraid or hurt or even uncomfortable one could not read it on his young face. "What is your name? Who is your family?" He did nothing but spit. "I can't send word to your king if I don't know who you are." He stared ahead silent. Matias tried to come up with a way to make the young man speak. He might as well try and use his pride against him. He glanced at the guard. "You couldn't give him anything warmer to put on? No blanket? As he is, he'll freeze to death by morning."

"I'm just fine," he said bitterly through clenched teeth.

Matias smiled. "Ah, he speaks. I was about to call you 'The Mute.' Tell me who you are so I can tell your king that you survived the battle. He can send word to your family. Have you a mother who would find comfort in such information?"

His expression turned even colder. "My mother is dead."

"I am truly sorry to hear that. What of your father? Surely he would like to know that his son lives."

He scoffed. "I think he could care less. If you must call me something, 'The Mute' will do. But 'The Bastard' is a more appropriate epithet." After this, he said no more.

Sir Valentine angrily searched through the army until he found Roldan nursing a wound. "I heard you fled like a little girl!"

"I was injured," he replied defensively.

Valentine grabbed his arm, examined it, and threw it back at him. "That's a scratch. Pitiful excuse for a soldier. You left your men to fend for themselves. Where is Temple? Teo?"

"Here, Sir Knight," Teo replied.

"You fled too?"

He stared blankly. "I followed Sir Roldan as is my duty, Sir."

"I suppose Temple _fulfilled his duty_ as well. And where is Carlos the Bastard? He prick his finger? Get a splinter? Break a nail? . . . Well? Where is he?"

"I . . . I don't know," Teo said confused.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"In the confusion . . . I don't think he followed us. . . I think he stayed."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you best be finding out or there will be hell to pay. You understand me?"

Valentine was discussing the situation to Don Reyes when Teo approached them with the information he had gathered. "Sir Valentine, Don Reyes, he wasn't on the field. And he wasn't with the army," Teo said to his liege.

"What happened then? He just disappeared?" Valentine asked.

"An envoy from Sir Matias de Soledad arrived. He says that they have a squire captured. He says they're willing to ransom him, Sir."

"Did they say who it was?"

"No."

Don Reyes sighed. "Temple is a good friend of mine. I can't lose his boy. Find out who this squire is, and give Soledad what he wants."

Matias sat on his horse. The rain had lessened, but it still fell lightly. As the rest of the army celebrated their victory, he watched the knights of Leon ride toward him carrying banners of peace.

"I am Sir Valentine, champion of Don Reyes."

"Don Matias de Soledad, a humble servant of the king."

"I hear you have a squire of ours. What do you want for him?"

"100,000 pieces of silver."

Valentine's heart stopped. "That's outrageous! You know you wouldn't get that if you had the King of Leon himself. You want it for some squire?"

"He's not just any squire, is he?"

Valentine thought for a moment. He didn't want to give up who Temple was if they didn't know, but he didn't want to let on that they didn't know who they had. "How do I even know that he lives?"

"I'll take one of your squires to see him. I'll leave one of mine as an assurance of his safety."

Valentine thought for a moment. If he sent one of his squires to see him, they would recognize him and be able to tell him who it was. "Teo, go."

"Not him. Him," Matias pointed to a younger, smaller squire. Valentine thought it odd but assented. "Julio, stay. We'll return here in an hour."

"What's your name?" Matias asked the young squire.

"Guillermo."

"Are you friends with this squire, Guillermo?"

"Not really. But I know him. . . . You do have Carlos, right?"

Matias smiled to himself. That's why he wanted the younger one. He shrugged. "Brown hair, brown eyes, proud, stubborn. Hell of a fighter."

"That's him all right. Sir Valentine's been looking for him. When they didn't find him dead, they figured that's who you had."

"Well, they figured right. Carlos the Bastard."

"Yeah, that's what they call him, but I don't know why."

"What do you mean?"

"Don Temple is his father. Or, at least, that's what he calls him."

Matias felt his mouth go dry. "Don Temple? Carlos the Bastard is Carlos Temple?"

"I guess . . . You know him?"

"Boy, they call him 'the Bastard' because Temple is not his father. He may have adopted him, but he is actually his uncle."

"Oh. How do _you_ know all this?"

"Carlos and I met a long time ago."

Young Guillermo stepped into the tent. Carlos looked up in confusion. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Sir Valentine sent me to be sure you're still alive. They're ransoming you."

"Tell them I said not to give in to their demands. Tell them . . ."

"Now, Carlos, don't be unkind to your visitor," Matias said rather patronizingly.

"You told him?" Carlos asked glaring at the squire.

"Told him what?"

Matias motioned to one of his squires. "Take Guillermo here back to Valentine. Tell him we'll await his answer." Guillermo left. "Well, I never thought we'd meet again, at least not under these circumstances. Carlos Temple. Carlos the Bastard."

"I didn't think we'd met," Carlos replied coldly.

"You don't remember? You were five. Cold like you are now," he said throwing a blanket over his shivering shoulders. Carlos glared at him, but the redness in his face probably had more to do with the embarrassment of showing his weakness. "And a few days later I delivered you to your uncle. It seems Philippe is once again responsible for saving your life and returning you safely to your family."

"He killed my family."

"_The King of Leon_ killed your family."

"Because of Philippe. And a lot of help he was."

"Your uncle still fighting?" he asked casually after a moment of silence.

"He trains and leads a company of swordsmen for the king."

"How old are you now Carlos?"

"Eighteen."

"Well, Sir Matias, let's see who you've captured," a tall man said entering the tent. Matias stood and bowed his head slightly. The other man had long, dark wavy hair with a matching beard. Both were beginning to show signs of grey. Carlos recognized who he was immediately if for no other reason than he saw the coronet set elegantly on his head. Carlos only held his head higher in defiance.

"Sire, this is the ward of Don Javier Temple."

"Don Temple, huh? Smart not to try to pass you off as his son. No one would ever believe it. Who was your father? Another knight?"

"So I'm told," he said with a slight grin.

"Sire," Matias began, "this is _Carlos _Temple—Don Temple's nephew. He is the son of Temple's sister."

Philippe's face turned expressionless. "Catalina Temple?"

"Yes, Sire, she–"

"I remember." He said nothing for a moment. "Prepare the men to strike camp. Winter is setting in. We head for home." He ducked from the tent. Matias followed.

"And the boy? I'm awaiting an answer from Don Reyes."

"He comes with us. Don Reyes knows where to find us."

Carlos stretched and got out of bed and made his way to the fire that had been lit. He had been dragged here while Philippe's agents continued their ransom negotiations. Winter had set in. No one was doing any fighting now anyway. He assumed he would have been escorted straight to the dungeon or a lonely tower, but Philippe had him put in a proper bedroom—not some little room with the servants but a real room as if he were a guest. There were clean clothes draped across a chair for him, and a maid had come in and lit the fire. Philippe's considerations had only made Carlos hate him more. And he wasn't truly free. He knew a guard waited just outside his door. He knew the door and the casements were securely locked, but he'd rather have been beaten and thrown in the cellar. He sat before the fire wrapped in a blanket ignoring the clothes. He wiped his nose on the blanket several times. Ever since he'd been captured, he felt a cold setting in, but he ignored it despite the fact that his cough was getting worse.

Another maid stepped in with a tray of food. She was an older woman he noticed, but he ignored her too. She may have been a woman, but she was the enemy as well. He was curious if they didn't trust him with a young one. Like father, like son? He muffled a cough behind his fist. "Sir?" He didn't answer. "Would you like something for your cough?" He remained silent. "It wouldn't be any trouble. I can go right down to—"

"No," he said sternly.

"Well, perhaps we should draw you a hot bath. Warm you up a little and get you cleaned up. Are you still in those muddy clothes?" He continued ignoring her. He could smell the food he was ignoring, and his stomach betrayed him. Her tone softened and changed to one of compassion. "Stop being so brave and eat something. . . . Carlos? . . . That is your name, isn't it? . . . Carlos, you're just a boy."

"I serve Don Reyes, brother to the King of Leon."

"And you'll be no good to him dead, and I don't care who you serve. It doesn't change the fact that you're what? 18? 19? Philippe is trying to help you."

"Like he helped my mother? He killed her. With my grandparents. I'd rather die than accept his 'help.'"

She sighed. "You are to appear before him today. He would like an audience with you. You should at least wash your face. Comb your hair. And if you don't eat anything your stomach will talk for you."

"I don't suppose I have a choice in this?"

"No. The king's wish is the king's command."

"Then I suppose I'll be needing a shave as well."

"You should. As representing your kingdom, I should think you'd want to look your best. If you must have pride, use it that way."

Carlos stood outside the garrison waiting to see the king. Soledad stood near him watching him warily. Philippe's knights passed him by. Some noting him. Others not. He was, after all, only a squire. A group of boys ran by him. One, on seeing him, stopped and returned. He had chin length dark hair and dark brown eyes. He was taller than his friends and cocky for a child no more than ten. He watched Carlos curiously.

"Don't you have duties to be seen to?" Soledad asked the boy who in turn ignored him.

"You're that squire they captured, aren't you?" he asked.

"What's it to you?" Carlos asked.

"My father is the king," he said proudly.

"Is he now?" Carlos asked, indifferent to the information given to him.

"Tristan, what did I tell you about meddling? Go back to your chores."

The boy, Tristan, still ignored Soledad. "What's your name?" Carlos was silent. He only coughed into his fist. "Hey, I asked you a question, and you will answer, Squire."

"And why is that, _Tristan_?"

He stood taller, placing his hands on his hips. "_Prince_ Tristan." Carlos laughed at the boy, angering his young sense of pride. "You disrespect me, but you won't disrespect my father. He'll teach you to honor your betters."

Carlos's brow furrowed as he glared at the boy. Soledad rubbed his temples. Carlos made a quick glance at his surroundings. He then dove at Soledad, snatching his sword and attacked Tristan. He knocked him to the ground and bent over him holding the edge of the blade against his throat. Other knights ran to protect their prince. Carlos glared at those around him. "Back off!" he called.

Soledad motioned for his men to stay back. "Carlos, no good will come of this," he said calmly.

"Silence, Soledad. As for _you_, _Prince Tristan_, I know my betters, and _them_ I respect. I will never bow to you or your father. I am a servant of the King of Leon." Carlos stood and yanked Tristan off the dirt by the neck of his shirt and shoved him toward the other boys. "Go, play with your little friends," he said coldly. He then tossed the sword back at Soledad and returned to his spot leaning on the wall as if the past incident had not occurred. Tristan stared at him in confusion. No one had ever treated him that way. Soledad shooed Tristan away and motioned the other glaring knights back to their posts. He put his sword away and looked at the young man who now looked bored.

He approached him. "You went too far, Squire."

"Maybe I did. Somebody ought to put him in his place."

"He'll grow out of it. He's really a good kid. He'll make a great knight—a great prince."

"You so sure about that?"

"Sure. I was right when I said that about you."

"I'm not a knight."

"You will be. Maybe when you return. After what I saw, I'd knight you."

Carlos smiled amused. "Sir Valentine doesn't like my attitude."

"I wonder why," Soledad replied with a hint of sarcasm. "Maybe someone should put _you_ in _your_ place."

"I know my place," he said softly. "And you would know. You and your king put me there."

"He wasn't king then. It was his father who insisted you be sent away."

Carlos shrugged. "Doesn't matter now."

A page approached them and nodded at Soledad. "The king summons us," Soledad said.

"Then let's get this over with."

Carlos and Soledad made their way down the hall and entered the room where Philippe waited for them. He was standing and speaking with some of his advisors. When he saw Carlos and Soledad, he motioned them aside. "Carlos Temple. Catalina Temple's son. Welcome."

Carlos walked with Soledad, stopped when he stopped. Soledad, however, bowed. Carlos did not, but no one called him on it. "I hear that you assaulted my son," he said with a slight grin.

"Word gets around here fast," he said somewhat cautiously, but Philippe did not seem all that angry. For the first time, he got a good look at the king. He looked old.

"What exactly do you want from me?" the king asked.

Carlos was confused. His brow furrowed. "I was about to ask you the same question, Sire." The king said nothing. "I want my freedom. I wish to return to my king."

"Do you really, Carlos? Why haven't you been knighted? Your abilities are not appreciated. Or is it a question of family?"

"Stop your riddles. What do you want?" he asked shortly.

"I'll give you what you want."

"And just what do you think that is?"

"Stay and fight under my colors."

Carlos laughed. "That's what you think I want?"

"It's what I want in return."

"For what?"

"Knighting you." Carlos was silenced. "You're old enough. Talented enough. Your king won't give it to you. I will."

Carlos began to walk around the room. He could feel the anger rising in him. "I believe it was you who sent me away."

"My father sent you away. I blame myself for what happened to your family. I wish to make amends."

"No. You're afraid of me. Just as you were afraid of him."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what Soledad saw. You know what I can be, what I can do. I could end this war."

"You have that much confidence in your abilities?"

"Don't you? You never wanted me here before. You're scared of me even more than you were of your father." Carlos was making himself at home, wandering around the room, examining the tapestries and weapons on the wall. "That's one thing we don't have in common. I fear no man—least of all _my_ father."

"I _obeyed_ my father," Philippe said turning red.

"You feared him. And that makes you weak. And I hope you don't expect me to start obeying _my_ father." Philippe was about to explode. The boy was shaming him in front of his more important vassals. He was an arrogant little bastard.

Soledad looked at the boy curiously. There was something about the way he spoke of his father, and he knew he had to say something. At this point, Philippe would only make things worse. "You surprise me, Squire. I expected questions from you. You speak of your father rather casually, yet you don't know who your father is or whether or not he even lives."

Carlos smirked. Philippe wanted to smack it off of him. "What makes you think I don't know?"

Soledad stared at him. "It is my understanding that Catalina wished to keep his identity a secret. And telling her young son would have defeated that purpose."

"She didn't tell me, but that doesn't mean she told no one."

He picked up a small figurine of a knight and horse from Philippe's desk. "Don't touch that," Philippe said shortly.

Carlos shot him a glance, but he put it back. "Tell me, Soledad. If I stayed, _if_ I stayed, would he claim me?"

"I would have to ask him, but it is doubtful." Soledad would have continued, but Carlos stopped him.

"Do what you must with me, but I will not serve you."

"So be it," Philippe growled.

"I'm calling your bluff," Soledad asked as they stepped back into the hall.

"What?" Carlos asked.

"You don't know. You want to trick us into giving something away—the same as I did with that younger squire."

"I _do_ know. And I know that he lives."

"No, you don't. If you did, you'd have said something," Matias turned and started to walk away.

"She told my aunt—Isabel Temple." Soledad turned back toward Carlos. "They were friends even before she married my uncle. The story goes she became a ward of my grandfather when her parents died. My uncle was away fighting. When he came home . . ."

"He came; he saw; he conquered?"

"Something like that. My grandfather saw them kiss. He felt as if his own daughter had been violated. He forced them to marry, which is one reason my uncle finds my situation so ironic. Anyway, my mother found herself in a forbidden romance which turned out to be an impossible romance. You know how women are. She had to tell someone. My aunt swore to keep his identity a secret, particularly form my uncle. Don Temple would have challenged him and died in the name of honor. She has never even told him she knows, but she felt I had a right to know so when she felt I was old enough, she told me and made me swear silence. She would be upset if she knew I told you this much."

"And yet, back there, you said nothing?"

"Didn't see how it would change anything. It's not like I'd be saying something that everybody here doesn't already know. You were there, weren't you? Besides, I promised."

"So there is something in you stronger than hate."

"What is that?"

"Love. Respect. For your aunt at least."

He shrugged. "Like I said. Wouldn't have made a difference anyway."

"Wait here. I'll take you back to your room."

Carlos watched the pages in the courtyard practicing their swordplay. Tristan lost his first two melees. The second knocked his wooden sword near Carlos's feet. While being laughed at, he trudged over to get it. "His killing stroke is over his head from his right shoulder," he said.

Tristan looked at him. He had said it while not looking at him. He didn't want anyone to know they were talking. He played along. He bent over and picked up his sword. "I know. I can't stop it."

"You can if you know it's coming." They looked at each other and a certain understanding was reached. "And stop backing away from him. You're better than that." The young prince jogged back to his challenger. Carlos watched. His opponent went in for the 'kill.' Tristan, instead of backing away as he did before, simply stepped aside and knocked him in the back.

"That's one for Tristan." Tristan smiled and looked back at Carlos who gave him a nod.

A few weeks passed, and young Temple did not change his mind about accepting Philippe's offer. He was kept alone in his room for most of the time, but he had been allowed to walk around outside his room for a few hours a day while negotiations continued. After one such walk, he sat before a fire in Philippe's hall. Pages and servants were preparing the room for the evening meal. He hunched over the fire waiting for Philippe's guards to return him to his room. A shadow passed over him and stopped. He glanced up to see the king. He didn't acknowledge him but turned away.

"Did no one teach you how to behave towards a king?"

Temple glared. "When I see _my_ king, I will act accordingly."

Philippe had no response. He only stared at his expression. "You look like her." The young man's brow furrowed in confusion at such a remark. "You don't think so? Around your face. I see that same expression of justified anger. Do you remember her at all? Do you remember that night she brought you to the camp?" He shook his head. "Nothing at all?"

"No," he lied. He remembered that night and the night she died even if he did have trouble distinguishing the two. He remembered fear, the crying, and death. He also remembered some of the same feelings he felt now: cold, anger, and hate along with something he never expected to feel again—abandonment. Why was he still here? Why had no one come for him? Would Don Reyes ever ransom him or leave him here with his father? Did he mean so little to them? Would he be left to start anew yet again? "How much longer am I stuck here?" he asked.

"There could be a place for you here."

"My place is in Leon."

"Your family is –"

"_My family_ is in Leon."

Philippe sighed. He tried to think of an argument that the young man might find convincing. "I have ever only done what I thought was best for you."

"No," he replied shaking his head. "You have always done what was best _for you_. Even now, you want me here because I am a threat to you and your reign as king. Understand something—You are not my king. You are not my liege. You are not my father. I owe you _nothing_."

"Nothing? Where would you be if I hadn't found you in that field and saved your life?"

Temple stared at him darkly. "Where would I be without you? With my mother."

Philippe resisted the urge to argue further. After all, if he hadn't camped out on his grandfather's lands, he wouldn't have existed to start with. But the boy couldn't be reasoned with. And he was obviously agitated. Sweat was beading on his forehead, but he still sat hunched over the fire as if he was freezing to death. He was not well, and he would refused any help Philippe offered. The best thing would be for him to rest. He nodded to a servant to take him away.

While Temple was gone, Tristan sneaked into the prisoner's room. Carlos entered. He coughed fiercely and rubbed his chest. He looked up and saw Tristan. "What do _you_ want?"

"I beat him. That page the other day? Did you see?" Carlos nodded, but he ignored him and crawled onto the bed exhausted. "I heard about you," Tristan said casually.

"And what did you hear?"

"Your mother died."

"What of it?"

"My mother died."

"And I'm sure you were greatly distressed," he said somewhat sarcastically.

"I don't even remember her. Do you remember your mother?"

His talk with the king had brought back long banished memories. "I remember waking up in the middle of the night with her dragging me from our home. She hugged me and gave me to a nurse and told us to run. And we ran. We ran until she could run no more. We stopped to rest. She bundled me up close to her and told me to sleep. I awoke the next morning because I was cold. She was cold. She had been wounded the night before. And she bled out in the night. My mother died where we left her." Tristan stared in awe. "And I have your father to thank for that."

"What about _your_ father?"

"Don't have one. I lived with my uncle."

"Did your father die too?"

"No."

"Well, where is he?"

"Pretending I don't exist."

"Why?"

He sighed. Why was this kid in his room? He coughed again. "It would be very inconvenient for a man of this kingdom to have a son of Leon. Especially where his family is concerned."

"Your father is one of us?" Tristan asked shocked. Carlos nodded, and Tristan thought. "You have brothers and sisters here?"

"I suppose."

"And they don't know about you?" He shook his head. "I would want to know."

"Would you?"

"I never had a brother."

"And you still wouldn't. I'm going home."

"What if they don't let you? What if they can't reach any agreement?"

"They'll have to let me loose or kill me. I won't sit quietly. I'll be a thorn in their side."

"You could fight for us."

He chuckled. "I'll never serve your father."

"Why?"

"He killed my family." Tristan stared at him curiously. Then, his eyes widened, and he dove behind a curtain. "What are you doing?"

"Someone's coming."

Carlos heard the lock click. Matias de Soledad entered. "I'm not sure you appreciate what Philippe is offering you."

"You're right. I don't."

Matias held up his hands in surrender. "So be it. Arrangements have been made. You will be returned in the morning to Don Reyes."

"How much did they pay for me?"

"Much more than you're worth, I'm sure."

Soledad turned to go. "Wait. Take the little stowaway with you." He motioned toward the curtain.

Soledad looked and saw two feet peeking out from beneath the curtain. He jerked it back and sighed. "Tristan?" He grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the door. "I told you he was not to be bothered . . ."

The little old maid fussed at him all the way out to the horse. "Here, wrap this around your throat," she said handing him a piece of fabric.

"It smells funny."

"It will help your cough." He whined and complained, but he did as he was told. After berating him and the rest of the company with stern instructions, she walked away from her charge and back to the castle. Philippe stood in the shadows watching the young squire depart. He stopped the maid as she walked by. "He listens to you?"

"Of course, he does. He's only a boy." Philippe took one last look at him. He had tried to get him away from Leon, but he was too late—way too late. Matias had been right all those years ago. They should have kept him. If only he hadn't been such a coward—if only he had stood up to the king—Carlos Temple would have been where he belonged. "I pity his father," the maid said.

Philippe was startled. He was unaware that she was still standing beside him. "I'm sorry?"

"His father? I heard his story from my son-in-law. His father is here somewhere, and whether he knows it or not, he not only lost a son, but he created a bitter enemy."

"He did that," Philippe replied.

"Are you all right, Sire?"

"Yes. I just wish we'd done right by him all those years ago."

"He turned out just fine. His aunt and uncle that raised him must have been good to him. You don't inspire loyalty like that without love. But then again, unlike his father, they didn't take for granted that children are a treasure—not something that can be just cast aside."

"I guess not. Thank you for taking such good care of him. I know he was trouble."

"Oh, no, Sire, he was no trouble. Just stubborn."

"Well, thank you anyway," he said and walked away.

Carlos shivered on the horse even though he found himself sweating. He continued to cough.

"Are you all right?" Soledad asked. Carlos nodded. "Are you sure? We can stop and rest awhile if you need to."

"I'm fine."

"What did you tell Tristan?" Soledad asked after a few moments of silence.

"Nothing."

"He was asking a lot of questions."

"He was asking questions before he came to me. He knew my mother died."

"Forgive him. He's a curious fellow. Were you a curious fellow at his age?"

"No. I was busy getting beat up and learning to defend myself."

"Yes, Carlos the Bastard."

"Yes, no one calls me that much anymore. But when they do, it's a term of respect now. I've earned that much at least." He coughed again. The cold air he was breathing was making his throat even more sore.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Just get me home."

Valentine made the exchange. The boy looked terrible. Valentine noticed no obvious wounds, but Temple looked half dead. "What did they do to you?" Valentine asked.

His pale face turned to Valentine. "I just need some rest. That's what winter's for."

"Let's get you to a fire and a warm meal."

"I could use that too."

Valentine helped him mount his horse. "Were you wounded during the battle?" He figured he already knew the answer to that question. If had been wounded that badly, he wouldn't have been fit to ride, but he asked anyway. Carlos shook his head. "Were you beaten?" He shook his head again. "Starved?"

"I'm just tired. I'll be okay," Carlos replied barely above a whiper. Valentine knew the boy was masking his pain as much as he could and even then, Valentine knew he was in no condition for the journey home. He would make it as far as Leon. Then, he would seek out a place of refuge until the boy was fit to travel.

Another knight of Leon, Don Manuel Rodriguez was enjoying his winter home with his family. He was playing with his children when one of his pages entered and said, "Sir, there is a Sir Valentine here who wishes admittance. He has a small group of knights and squires with him. They are wearing the colors of Leon."

"I think I've heard of Valentine. What do they want?"

"Shelter. Food. They say they are returning from ransoming one of their number from King Philippe himself."

"Show them in."

Sir Valentine walked in and bowed slightly. "Thank you, My Lord. We are vassals of Don Reyes. We would have gone straight there, but I have a sick squire. I wasn't sure he'd make it that far. I just ransomed him on a specific request from my liege. If I bring back a body, he'll kill me."

"Well, bring him in. I'll send a messenger to Don Reyes to let him know you're here."

"Thank you. Your hospitality is much appreciated."

"Who is the young man?"

"His name is Carlos. He's the ward of Javier Temple."

"I know Temple. I'd be happy to serve the king in this fashion. You look like you could use a rest as well. We'll see to that."

"Thank you, My Lord."

Don Reyes arrived with his brother the king and immediately sought an audience with Manuel Rodriguez and his wife. "I've sent for the Temples. How is he?" Don Reyes asked. He knew it must be serious if not only had Valentine stopped, but Carlos had let him.

Manuel's wife said, "He's still in bed with a fever."

"Will he live?"

"I think so," she said, but she didn't seem too confident.

"What is it?"

"He's saying strange things. He doesn't know what he's saying, but he's talking about Philippe and his father, and saying things like 'I'll never serve him.' Sometimes it's 'I'll never serve you.' He's not well, Sire."

"So he's speaking about his father? Do you think he met him after all these years? Has he said who he is?" Don Reyes asked.

Manuel's wife shrugged. "Nothing I can understand, Sir."

Reyes nodded. "Let me know if anything changes."

Lady Rodriguez awoke that morning and immediately went to check on the young squire. She prayed for the best especially after her husband told her of the poor boy's past. She had sons of her own and couldn't imagine losing any of them,and this was Isabel Temple's only son. She would do all she could for him.

She opened the door to find her daughter sitting by his bed staring at him. She sighed. The sick squire was a curiousity to her children, and she couldn't seem to convince them to leave the poor boy be. Her two older daughters found him handsome, but this one at least was here because she genuinely wanted to help. "Gabby, Honey, I told you. He needs to be alone so he can rest."

"But, Mama, he's all wet."

Lady Rodriguez hurried to his side and felt his face. He had finally sweated off his fever. "Thank heavens. Sweetheart, fetch me some help please. We'll need to get him dry and change his bedclothes." While the child scampered off, Carlos opened his eyes, awakened by Lady Rodriguez's voice and tender touch. He looked lost so she smiled to calm him. "Good morning, Sir. Welcome back," she said softly, reaching out and trying to wipe some of the dampness from his face and hair.

"Where am I?"

"You are a guest in my home. My husband is Don Manuel Rodriguez."

"I'm back home? In Leon, I mean."

"Yes. Yes, you're home. Your aunt and uncle have been sent for."

"Why? Am I dying?"

"If we thought you were dying, we wouldn't have bothered sending for them. We would have gotten you priest instead," she replied scolding him gently. "Now, I need you to get up for me so we can get this bed dry. Can you do that?" He nodded. He slipped from the bed and onto a nearby couch. He watched as a few housemaids came in and aided the lady of the house in her mission. She walked over to him and handed him a dry shirt to change into and a blanket. "Wrap yourself in this until we're done."

The group of ladies were quick and efficient in their task and before he knew it, his hosttess was putting him back to bed. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble," he said.

"Nonsense. You need to start thinking about getting your strength back," she began while tucking him in as if he were one of her young children. He didn't fight it. "Do you think you could eat something?"

"Maybe a little."

"Good. I'll be back in a minute." By the time she returned with a little breakfast, he had already fallen back asleep, and she didn't have the heart to wake the dear boy.

Javier Temple hurried through the hall with his wife and daughter at his heels. Manuel's wife met them in the hall smiling. "It's like he knew you were coming. His fever broke this morning." Relief spread over their faces. "I know you wish to see him. I'll take you to him," she said taking Isabel by the arm. "My husband and the king are through there, Don Temple."

Isabel and the girl walked with Lady Rodriguez to see Carlos. Don Temple, relieved, entered and bowed to the king. "Have you heard the good news?" Don Reyes asked.

"Yes. Don Rodriguez, I can't thank you enough."

"You'd do the same for one of mine."

Temple nodded. "Your message said that he looked terrible—that you thought there might have been some torture involved. Has he said anything about what happened to him?"

"No. Valentine said that he denied any mistreatment, but we haven't asked. We figured you'd get more out of him than we would."

"My wife also insisted we let him rest," Manuel said smiling.

Temple grinned. "My wife will probably insist the same." Isabel reentered. She took her husband's hand. "Where's Aracely?"

"Lady Rodriguez took her to play with her daughters."

"How is he?"

"He looks much better than I expected, but I did anticipate the worst. You should see him."

Much to the dismay of the ladies, Temple brought along the king, Don Reyes, and Valentine to see Carlos. He was pale, but at least he was awake and was aware of what was happening. Temple was pleased that he recognized them. This little conference had put a look of nervous confusion on his face. Javier knew that he would be all right, but he also wondered what sort of hell Philippe had put his boy through. After an exchange of greetings, Temple looked at the boy and asked what had they done to him.

He shrugged. "Nothing." Javier didn't really believe him, but it would be difficult to get him to say what sort of pain he had been put through under the best circumstances. Given his condition, he didn't want to interrogate him further.

"Who is it that you won't serve, Carlos?" Don Reyes asked softly.

"What?"

"It's what you've been raving about the past few days."

Carlos looked at those assembled and fear spread through his face. "You think that I won't serve you, My King? No, you misunderstand. I won't serve Philippe. _Ever_."

"Is that an issue?" Don Reyes asked.

"He wanted me to stay. He offered to knight me."

"Why?" the king asked.

"You'd have to ask him, but I think he was impressed with me."

"Don't flatter yourself, Boy," Don Reyes added.

"I think he's right. Soledad spoke very highly of him. They wouldn't give him up for just nothing," Valentine added.

"What about your father? Maybe he changed his mind. Did they reveal him to you?" Don Reyes continued.

"They did not."

"You're that good, huh?" the king asked, but Carlos just smirked.

Valentine answered for him. "He's arrogant, cocky, and immature. But he has promise. Maybe even great promise. He has courage, intelligence, and a strong arm. That's what Soledad saw."

Don Reyes met Temple's eye and sent him a questioning glance. Temple shrugged a shoulder. Don Reyes motioned for them all to leave the boy alone with his guardian. "What was that all about?" Carlos asked.

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"They didn't tell me who my father was."

"I believe you. But what did they do to you?"

The boy shrugged. "Nothing. I just got cold and wet. That's all. They gave me whatever I needed. Believe me, I wish I could tell you different."

"Then I believe you. I best let you rest."

"I've never trained a squire that good," Valentine said when they all had left him.

"Can he best you?" the king asked.

"Blindfolded. With one hand tied behind his back."

"Am I gonna have to knight him now? Just to keep him?" Don Reyes said.

"I don't think you should," Valentine replied. "He needs a few more years to mature. But he's going to be a great knight. He will truly be fearsome to behold. And he's fiercely loyal to Leon. He hates Philippe and his kingdom. He's courageous—to the point of brashness but that will improve with maturity. I don't think he's figured out yet that not everyone's as brave as he is."

"I heard Roldan, who showed just as much promise, fled. Yet his squire soldiers on," Don Reyes said smiling.

"How old is he?" the king asked.

"Eighteen. Barely," Valentine answered.

"So young. So strong." The king said rubbing his chin and thinking.

"And he _knows_ it. That's his problem," Valentine replied.

"Leave us, Sir Knight. I have something to discuss with my brother."

Don Reyes and the king were sequestered for hours. When they finally emerged, the king left for home, and Reyes sent for Temple. "You must be very proud of your boy," he said when Temple entered.

"I am. He may not be mine, but he's my blood."

"Doesn't look like you. Acts like you though."

Temple shook his head. "I was never _that_ good. I'd like to think so, but I know I wasn't."

"I wished to speak to you and make you an offer."

"An offer, My Lord?"

"An increase in your fortunes. You were loyal to me when your father was not. When I found out the boy survived, I admit I was angry that you kept that from me, but you gave him to me, and what a gift. We may finally have the edge we need to destroy Philippe and his kingdom. I wish to reward you and so does the king. My brother has a fief of great prominence whose vassal has died. He left no son, only a daughter. She's a few years younger than your ward. You may have the fief, and your ward will inherit it so long as he marries the girl. In fact, my brother left to have the documents drawn up."

"What fief?"

"Asturius."

Javier was stunned. Asturius was almost a kingdom in itself. In fact, it was at one time. "That . . . that . . . would be an increase."

"You have served Leon well and so will the boy. And maybe a wife will calm him down a little."

Javier smiled. "Maybe. It will be an honor to serve you, My Lord. I'll tell Carlos."

"You what? Who is this girl? You don't know anything about her!" Isabel told her husband when she heard the news.

"She was raised in the king's house. She's wealthy. I'm sure she's fine." He smiled. "Reyes considers this a _reward_—not a punishment."

"How old is she? What does she look like?"

"What does it matter?"

"Would it have mattered to you if you found me unattractive?"

"I thought this was _good _news. You don't want him to marry?"

"No, I do. But we're talking about a betrothal between two very young people who have never met—whom _you_ have never met."

He smiled. "I think the problem is _you've_ never met her. If you approved, then it wouldn't matter to you if they'd met."

"Have you told him?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He will serve his king."

"Men and your stupid pride," she muttered under her breath and left the room.


	6. New Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Valentine wondered what had persuaded him to return to battle this year. He was entirely too old. The man he fought now was better than he was—faster and stronger. He lost his sword, but a squire had handed him another—probably the squire's own. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the young man picked another sword off a body and returned to keeping the enemy at bay. What did it matter anyway? He always knew he'd die on the battlefield. And it was his time. He fell to his knees, but just before the killing stroke fell, it was blocked. The squire had come out of nowhere and saved his life again. He watched the boy's silhouette framed by the setting sun as he dispatched his opponent. He stood near Valentine protecting him from the adversaries that approached. The enemy began to retreat, and the squire stopped his attack. His opponent waited for a nod of permission from the young squire of Leon before bolting with the rest of his comrades. Valentine watched the young man turn and head back to him. As he did, the old knight felt an arm under his shoulder, helping him up. "Are you all right, Sir?" his squire asked.

"Yes," he replied absently watching his rescuer approach. It was Temple. He wasn't surprised. He gave Valentine a questioning look which Valentine returned with a nod. "Where is Sir Roldan?"

Temple, still catching his breath, just shrugged. "His horse was wounded. I gave him mine. Don't know where he went after that."

"Where's Teo? You have his sword."

"I needed one after I gave you mine. He's back there," he replied nodding in the general direction behind him but not looking.

"Is he dead, Temple?"

"Yes."

"He was your friend. I'm sorry, Boy, but these things happen."

He nodded as the king approached with Don Reyes. "Your squire there saved your life. He had an impressive day. He fought with much skill and fervor. I know what we'd do with him in my day," he said from his horse.

"I agree," Don Reyes replied.

"Yes, I believe the time has come," Valentine agreed. He looked over at Temple who stood with head bowed in humble respect. It was amazing how much he'd matured in the year and a half since they'd ransomed him. He looked back at Don Reyes. "Would you care to do the honor, My Lord?"

"I believe I would," he replied dismounting.

"Kneel, Squire," Valentine said to Carlos pointing to a bare spot on the ground with his sword.

Don Reyes approached and began to speak while removing his gloves from his hands. "Do you, Carlos Temple, swear to serve God, and live an upright life, honor all women, and above all else, serve me as your liege and master?"

Carlos then recited the words that his uncle had taught him as a boy—words that he had been waiting his whole life to say. "I do. Here do I swear by mouth and hand, fealty and service to the Crown and the Kingdom of Leon. To speak and to be silent, to come and to go, to strike and to spare, to do and to let be, in such matters as concern the kingdom; on my honor, and the lawful command of the Crown, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, from this hour henceforth, until the King depart his throne, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Carlos Temple."

Carlos saw the blow coming from the corner of his eye, but it still caught him off guard. He hit the ground and pain shot through the side of his face. His ears were ringing, and he saw spots. He shook his head and propped himself up on an elbow and tried to make sense of his surroundings. When his vision cleared, he looked up to see Don Reyes standing over him smiling and offering him his sword. "Rise. Sir Temple."

Carlos Temple quickly rose through the ranks of Leon's knights. The man had a gift that was beyond anything anyone had ever seen. Not everyone could keep up with him though, so Don Reyes had decided that the time for him to marry had arrived. He had taken the initiative in the boy's personal affairs since his uncle had died on the battlefield a few months before, and he felt it was time to get his attention on something else besides destroying Philippe. A marriage and celebration would be a nice distraction for him, and it would give the swordsmen that he led some rest. He was on his way to a tournament called by the King of Leon to celebrate his fourth marriage. He knew his brother the king would support him in this and would have the girl ready.

Sofia dressed for the tournament with some sense of anxiety. She knew that the new Lord of Asturius was here. She had met Don Javier Temple before he died. She had even met his wife and daughter. But she had never met the nephew. She knew he was here at the tournament, and the king was ready to give her in marriage to the young knight, but she was nervous. What was he like? His aunt and uncle seemed like nice and decent people. And his uncle was very handsome, but none of those qualities need be applied to the nephew. She had heard that he was talented. Her guardian the king had even intimated that if he won this tournament, and there was little doubt that he wouldn't, that the Lord of Asturius would become the new Champion of Leon—the champion to the king himself. So he had talent, but she had also heard that he was arrogant. She was hoping she could see him without him knowing her at least for a time so she could gauge his character. She wanted to marry and have children, but if he was completely hopeless as a prospective husband, she would tell her guardian she wished to take orders and become a nun. As she had grown up, she had watched the king go through wife after wife. Each one seemed younger than her predecessor. She would never marry a man like that and suffer the same fate. She would instead devote her life to God.

Even though she had an invitation to sit on the dais with the king, she went and found her childhood friend. She knew she would not be missed. She had lived with the king for many years, but he paid her little attention, and while her father lived, she saw him even less. She spent most of her time with the royal scribe and his daughter. Her friend looked eagerly among the banners and heraldry looking for a sign of Sofia's betrothed. To Sofia's misgivings, she only said, "Who cares? He's the Lord of Asturius and a favorite of the king." She only shrugged in reply. All that meant nothing if he was a man without character—a man without honor. "You've met his uncle. What is his coat of arms?"

"Green, I think. With a bird. A black one."

"What kind of bird?"

"I don't remember."

"You're no help . . . I don't see a black bird. . . . Is that him?"

Sofia looked over to where she pointed. She saw a knight in green with a gold bird on his shield trimmed in black. He was wearing full armor and prepared for the joust. "I think so."

"He carries himself well."

"He seems very confident."

The green knight charged his assailant. The two seemed evenly matched. They dismounted to continue their fight on foot. Temple removed his helmet before taking his sword from his squire. "Oh, wow," her friend said. "Jesus loves you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, but as she looked at him, she knew what she meant. He was a handsome man, but she refused to think too much of it. He may be handsome, but he could still be a waste of human flesh.

He defeated his opponent, and he knelt before his king. The crowd was already chanting, "Green! Green! Green!" so loud as to make hearing the king difficult. The king congratulated him, and he stood to receive the cheers of his people. He held his sword in the air and basked in the light of his own glory. Temple turned in her direction, and she saw his smile. Her heart melted a little, and her protests began to seem frivolous and selfish.

Now that the tournament was concluded, she was returning to her room to prepare for her journey. After the tournament, she and the king were to head to Asturius so that she might wed. She spotted him walking toward her. She stood in the shadows hoping to remain unnoticed. Without his armor he seemed smaller. He was still tall and muscular, but he was different somehow. "Carlos!" she heard. From the other end of the hall, a girl about twelve rushed toward him. She threw her arms around his neck, and he spun his sister around. "You won!" she said.

He laughed. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"There he is!" Sofia turned again. A group of pages approached. "The villain has captured the princess! Get him!" A horde of seven and eight year old boys wearing the livery of several different knights attacked him with wooden swords.

He stood in front of the girl. "You'll never take me alive!" he called out. He fought them off with a wooden sword of his own. She watched him put a sword under his arm and "die" in dramatic fashion. She chuckled at his playfulness. So she knew he was talented, wealthy, handsome, playful, and was adored by children. Maybe he _was_ like his uncle. Maybe he was all right. Who would have thought that the arrogant Lord of Asturius was a genuinely nice guy?

Back in Asturius, Temple had returned to his room after a morning of training with his men. He cleaned up and changed his clothes. He found himself very self-conscious. He looked for any blemish on his white shirt. "She's just a girl," he told himself. He was supposed to meet his fiancé today. He was not looking forward to it. Since his uncle moved him to the garrison, he had never lived under the same roof as a woman. Now, he was gonna have to share a room with one—a bed with one. There was a knock at the door. His aunt entered. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Are you?" she asked picking a piece of lint from his shirt. He looked around for more in a sense of panic. She smiled. "Where is your confidence? That arrogance that I hear so much about?"

He grinned. "I've been defeating men twice my age and size since I was fifteen. With girls, I've always had a little more competition."

Isabel began to extol the great qualities of his bride. "She's a wonderful, sweet young lady, Carlos. She was raised in the king's household and has a very noble disposition. She has a good head on her shoulders and a warm heart. She will see to the household affairs well while you are gone and be an excellent mother to your children."

He interrupted her. "I'm sure she's great, but you may be looking at this the wrong way. It's possible _she_ won't have _me_."

Isabel found herself smiling. "Oh, she will."

"Well, I mean, I don't come from a particularly distinguished family. I'm not wealthy. This is _her_ father's house. I'm just the bastard son of a traitor."

"Trust me. That smile and that face will cover a multitude of sins," she replied patting his hand. She linked her arm through his. "And that doesn't hurt your cause at all either," she added squeezing his hard, muscled arm . He chuckled shaking his head.

Sofia entered the hall and saw Temple waiting with his aunt and sister. She still had her reservations, but she was more hopeful now than she was before. He introduced himself and a few of the other more important members of the household and pressed his lips to her hand. She normally had a preference for blue eyes. His were brown, but they were the most beautiful brown she had ever seen. She tried to ignore such observations hoping to keep her feet rooted to the ground. She would not risk a life of unhappiness and abuse on a pair of brown eyes and a nice smile.

She was shown to her room by the lady of the house. She looked around the room. The Temples hadn't changed much about the house itself. "Is everything to your satisfaction?" the lady asked. "I know these quarters are only temporary, but . . ."

"Everything is fine."

"I know you are a little apprehensive, but he really is a good boy—well, young man. He'll always be a boy to me. He really does have your best interests at heart. I think it's one of his best qualities."

Sofia thought for a moment. "What's his worst?"

"Pardon?"

"People have been telling me for weeks what they think are his best qualities. He's handsome, talented, brave. I've also heard words like arrogant, fierce, and insolent. You know him very well. What quality would you say is his worst?"

Isabel Temple thought before answering and gave the young lady an honest answer. "I wouldn't pay too much attention to those last several you mentioned. My husband and Carlos are similar in personality, and I hear they are both strong and as you said, fierce on the battlefield, but they are good about leaving it there. I never knew the 'Hammer of Leon' that everyone talked about. As far as his worst quality, I know it well because he shared that with my husband as well. Both of them harbor a deep bitterness towards their respective fathers. They won't talk about it. They bury it deep and hide it well, but at the slightest mention of their past, they grow cold. And angry."

Sofia thought about what she had said. On earlier meetings of theirs she had learned of his origins. She understood the anger and bitterness. "Thank you. For being honest with me."

"Absolutely. I know you still have time to change your mind, but I hope you stay long enough that we have many talks like this."

Isabel smiled and left Sofia with her own thoughts. The young woman felt confined by the walls of her room, and she began to wander the halls. She walked through the place which she had not inhabited since she was a small child. She made her way outside and stumbled upon him sitting on the edge of the fountain. He saw her and immediately jumped to his feet.

"I did not mean to disturb you, My Lord."

"It's all right. Please, sit." She did, and they sat in uncomfortable silence.

"You're not what I expected," she said softly after a moment of trying to find something to say.

"What did you expect?" he asked grinning.

"Someone a little more. . ."

"Charming?"

"Blond." He laughed. "Well, I mean, I guess I pictured you looking more like your uncle."

He nodded. "No one has ever mistaken me for his son."

"I can see why. . . . I saw you win at the tournament."

"Yeah? What did you think?"

"That I'm sad I missed the rest of it. It was fun to watch."

"It's always fun when you're winning."

Silence again reigned for a moment. She cleared her throat. "Is this yours?" she asked getting up and picking up a sword from the wall.

"Yes."

She held it with both hands. "It's heavy."

He rose and joined her. She gave a precursory swing and almost lost her balance. "Whoa, easy." He took it from her. "Start with this one." He handed her a wooden one and picked up one for himself. "Here, let's start with the parries." He showed them to her.

"This one feels funny."

He grinned. "Then you're doing it right. Here. I'm going to attack you swinging over head. Block me." He did, and she parried, doing all she could to ignore that grin. "Okay. Good. Just one thing." He reached out guided her arm by moving her elbow. "You want to have your sword right about here. If you're too high, your attacker will give you a bit of a shave."

She smiled. "A shave?"

"Well, might nick that chin of yours. Too low, and he'll take a little off the top. Try again." She did. "That's better."

His steward approached him. "My Lord, I have a message for you from Don Reyes."

"Excellent." He took the parchment from him but handed it back without reading it. "Why don't you take it to Tomas? Tell him I'll join him momentarily." The steward left, and Temple was about to excuse himself. But she spoke first.

"I thought Tomas was your chaplain?"

"He is. He also serves as my scribe."

"You can't read, can you?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment. Then shrugged. "It's not something I've ever needed to know."

She smiled softly. "Then I shall have to return the favor. You gave me a lesson in swordplay. I shall have to teach you."

"You can read?"

"I spent most of my time with the royal scribe's daughter. He taught her, and I caught on."

"What use would that be to me?" he asked grinning.

"Like me learning to use a sword?" She laughed, but his smile faded. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," he said shrugging and staring at the ground.

"No, it's something. I've upset you. Forgive me, I . . ."

He shook his head. "It's not your fault. I just. . . . Perhaps it would have been useful to my mother."

Her mouth went dry, and she felt incredibly guilty. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," he shook off his depressed mood and smiled again. "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to learn something new. I like a good challenge."

"Perhaps you'll find a use for it."

He nodded. "Perhaps. I should see to my message. I'm sure it has to do with his arrival."

"Probably."

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, My Lord."

"Goodnight."

During the ceremony, Isabel cried like a baby watching her boy. She was reminded of her own wedding. Javier was his age when they married. The two men may not have looked alike, but he still reminded her of her late husband. And just watching the boy himself upset her, for the very reason that he wasn't a boy anymore. Sofia looked beautiful as well in her blue dress with her floral crown in her hair. Isabel just found everything beautiful and perfect.

After the nuptial mass, they all went to the great hall for the feast. There was music and dancing, and the table was laden with everything that could be imagined. As according to tradition, guests brought cakes and stacked them. The bride and groom kissed over the top of them without knocking them over, and the guests cheered. Isabel was pleased for this was good luck for the couple, but also, that kiss seemed less awkward than the one during the actual ceremony. Apparently, after a few ales, Temple was feeling a little better about himself. Aracely was dancing and playing among the guests with her friends. Isabel greeted Don Reyes and the king who were enjoying themselves as well. The crown prince was there also. He was a product of the king's second marriage and was only a few years younger than her nephew, and he was the only son of the king. He was a capable soldier, but he was known more for his intelligence and leadership abilities. All knew he would make a great king. It made Isabel happy to see them all there. She wished Javy could have seen this. He lived long enough to hear of their nephew being knighted, but this would have pleased him as well. She wiped away yet another tear and rejoined her guests.

Sofia had been speaking with and receiving the congratulations of many people, and somehow in the confusion, she had lost her husband. Not seeing him in the great hall, she stepped outside. He stood next to a tree in the courtyard tearing off leaves and twigs. "My Lord?" she asked.

He jumped and flung himself around. "Yes?"

"What are you doing out here?"

"Forgive me. I don't . . . I'm not used to playing the host."

"I understand. I know I've never seen you at court."

He grinned somewhat sheepishly. "No. . . . You have married a poor soldier who knows nothing else."

She picked up a stick from the stone walkway. "Nothing, but one, two, . . ." she replied demonstrating the parries he showed her the night before.

He laughed and picked up a stick of his own. "Not bad. Ready? Five." He would attack calling out numbers indicating which parry he wanted her to use. "Good. One thing." He walked behind her. When you block, you're taking these little steps backward. It's making you unsteady on your feet. You risk losing your balance. You wanna turn your body like this every time you block. Makes you more stable."

She watched him and tried to mimic him. "Like this?"

"Yes, only . . ." He reached out and put a hand on her waist and turned her a little more. "Like that." Their eyes met, and they stood there for a moment. He was the first to back away. "All right, let's try again." He did as he did before calling out numbers. "Better."

"Feels strange."

"You get used to it."

"Do I ever get to attack you? Seems unfair."

He grinned and shrugged. He readied himself. "En garde."

She attacked him, but he moved so fast she didn't even see what he did. But the stick he was using as a sword was touching her side within seconds. "That's one for me," he said smiling.

"How did you do that?" He shrugged wearing that cocky grin of his. "Let me try again." He nodded. They continued their sparring. He just deflected what she threw at him without going on the offensive until her stem flew from her hand. She clenched her fist, and he knew he had hurt her.

"What happened?" he asked throwing his own aside and rushing toward her.

"Nothing," she replied grinning at his concern. "The stick hit my hand."

"Are you hurt?"

She examined it in the moonlight. "No. It didn't break the skin."

"Let me see," he said examining it himself. "It's red though. Lesson number two: the purpose and importance of a hilt." He said grinning and kissing her wounded extremity. She laughed. She thought he might kiss her, but they were interrupted by a giggle.

They both turned their heads toward the sound. Sofia saw nothing, but Carlos chuckled shaking his head. "I see you." In a flurry of skirts and giggles, several girls ran back to the hall. He shrugged. "My sister."

"Was she looking for some entertainment? Like a kiss?"

He grinned. "Probably."

"And you wouldn't give her what she came for. Shame on you, Big Brother."

He turned serious. "Look, it's not that . . . it's not that I don't want to . . . I just . . . I appreciate that this is difficult for you . . . for both of us . . . I just want . . . I want to be . . ."

"A man of honor?" she asked grinning at his inability to complete a sentence.

He smiled. "I'd like to think so."

"Unlike your father?" she added softly and somewhat hesitantly after her discussion with Isabel.

A shadow passed briefly across his face. "Exactly. And Isabel _should_ be proud of her boy. She deserves that much."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm sure she is, and she has every right to be. I think you've made both your aunt and uncle proud. And where I'm concerned, I think you're doing great so far."

"You keep flattering me like that, and I shall have to keep you with me always."

She averted her eyes from his gaze. "And if you keep looking at me like that, My Lord, I shall have to do the same."

"You don't have to call me that," he said softly stepping closer.

"I know." He didn't say anything else. She wished he would. Or just kiss her. She knew he wanted to. It was written on his face, in his eyes, even in his touch. He just wouldn't do anything about it. She cleared her throat. "We are neglecting our guests."

"I prefer it out here."

"Well then, I shall see you later," she began to move back toward the hall, but he wouldn't release her hand.

He pulled her back. "You misunderstand me."

"How so?"

His lips brushed hers softly. He then linked her arm through his and began leading her back. "Whether out here or in there, I'd just rather be with you."

It was a great celebration even in this time of war. The bride and groom were chased to their room. Temple shut the door behind them and leaned on it in attempt to keep out intruders. The only thing that made it through were a few drunken, lewd comments. They both chuckled nervously. Temple approached her cautiously. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and said, "You know, we don't have to do anything you don't want . . ."

She interrupted him by touching his lips. She then blew out the candle and kissed him.

He had spent several months with his bride trading lessons in swordplay and letters, but spring had returned. He was back in the field training his men. It had been a long day as they marched toward Philippe's army. Temple sat in his tent half asleep when a messenger entered from Asturius. "How are things at home?" he asked.

"Everything is well, My Lord. I have a message for you."

"Read it to me."

"It's from your wife, Sir."

Temple smiled. She had already sent him one hidden in his things. He didn't find it until they set up camp. It simply said, "I love you." She had sent him another not long ago that said, "Be safe." He liked getting her little notes and was relieved that she kept them short and simple. He took the parchment from the messenger and motioned for him to leave. He opened it and saw four short words. The first he recognized immediately as _I_. The second was easy—_am_. The third gave him a little more trouble, but he eventually came up with _with_. It was the last word that confused him. He tried figuring out what it _should_ be. "I am with . . ." Who could she be with? The king? No. This word lacked and _n_ and a _g_. Why would she write that she was with Isabel? That didn't even make sense. Of course she was with Isabel. The same with his sister. Reyes started with _R _which this word didn't. He scratched his head confused. Growing increasingly more frustrated, he wanted to crumple up the message and throw it in the fire, but what good would that do him? He set it down, smoothed it out, and stared at it and studied the first three words again. Maybe he had missed something.

The messenger poked his head back in. "My Lord? I do have other messages."

"What is this word?" he asked pointing.

"Child, Sir."

Temple thought for a moment. What child was she with? Then, it hit him.

When he had served the agreed upon amount of time, he left for Asturius. He rode through the gate, dismounted, and hurried into the house. He walked through the halls looking frantically for his wife. Just as he was about to pull his hair out, he heard, "There you are." He turned. There she was with an obvious bulge beneath her gown. Eyes fixed, he stood very still. She walked toward him. She reached out and took his hand and put it on her belly. "Right here. Feel that?" He smiled but said nothing. "We still have a few months left." He was still silent. "What are you thinking? Why are you so quiet?"

"How are you feeling?" he asked finally looking at her face.

"I'm fine. Tired and pregnant, but fine," she said smiling.

"It's dangerous, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "My mother died during childbirth. Not with me. A younger sister. They both died. . . . But Isabel didn't. And neither did your mother."

"I remember my grandfather used to tell her that she'd be better off if she had."

"What would have happened to you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." He returned to his silent contemplation.

"Are you _that_ worried about me?" she asked chuckling.

"Yes. You and the baby," he replied seriously.

"But, My Lord, you hardly know me," she smiled.

"After those few months, perhaps I was being presumptuous, but I thought we were friends," he replied returning the grin.

"You did put me in this position. Don't worry. We're both going to be fine," she said putting a hand on his chest.

"How can you be sure?" he asked covering her hand with his own.

"When you left in the spring, you promised you'd come back. How could _you_ be sure?"

He shrugged and finally smiled fully. "What do you think it is? Boy or girl?"

"I don't know," she chuckled. "I think everyone's told me something different, and they all think they're right. Which would you prefer?"

"I know I'm supposed to want a son, but I don't really care. . . . I'm gonna be a father? I . . . I don't even know . . . I'm not even sure what that means. . . . not ever having one myself."

"I know what you mean. I wasn't even two when my mother died. But you had Javier."

"Yeah, I guess. I'll bet Isabel is excited."

"Oh, you should see her. She's absolutely thrilled. She changes her mind every day. One day, she wants us to have a boy . . . then she wants a girl. She's ready for a baby in this house again so bad."

He put a hand on her head and kissed her temple. "Then we'll give her one. Let's go find her. I should tell her I'm home."

Temple awoke with a start. He looked around. His wife was not in bed. He heard a groan. He looked around. His wife was on the floor surrounded by a puddle. He had seen some disturbing scenes on the battlefield, but this one topped them all. He ran over to her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"The baby's coming. I . . . I tried not to wake you."

"I'll go get—"

"No!" she reached out and grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "No, don't go. Don't leave me alone. Stay, please. I'm afraid."

He held her for a moment. Then helped her up and back into the bed. "Come on. The floor is cold. Sofie, I can't do this. I don't know how. I have to go get help."

"No. No, stay. Don't leave me in here alone."

"Look at me, I won't leave the room. Just let me put my head out the door. Someone will pass by. I can send them."

She nodded. "Okay. But hurry." Within minutes, the room was crawling with maids and his aunt. He found himself being ushered from the room despite his protests. The commotion had woken his sister. She joined him although she fell asleep on the couch while he paced the hall fitfully for hours. In the wee hours of the morning, his chaplain joined him.

"Settle down, Son. Pray for them."

"I have. Constantly."

"Give it to God. You're certainly not helping them like this."

He heard the wail of infant. He tensed instantly. His aunt came out of the room with tears streaming down her cheeks. He was frightened by them. "What's wrong?"

She walked up to him and kissed his cheek. "Nothing. They're both perfect. Beautiful and perfect. Come see."

He walked in to see his wife holding their baby. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as well. Was _everybody_ crying? He stepped closer and watched the infant as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Here," his wife whispered and handed him his child. He let the baby grab his finger as he looked down at the little face. "You haven't asked," she said softly.

"Asked what?"

She chuckled and was silent a moment. "She looks like you," she said putting emphasis on the first word.

"She? It's a girl?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes."

He blushed. "She looks like me? I can't tell." She nodded and laughed. "What?"

She reached up and touched his face and then showed him the moisture on her fingertips. "You're crying, My Lord."

He grinned wiping his face. "I haven't cried since I was five years old." They were silent for a while. She rested while he kept holding his daughter. He couldn't recall having ever seen such a small person. Maybe his sister, but he didn't remember her being this tiny. He thought about his daughter and her future. He thought of his wife and the other children they would have, and all of a sudden he wanted peace. He didn't care about Philippe and what that man had done to him. He just wanted to live with his family in peace. All these years he thought Philippe had destroyed his life. As he looked at his family, he realized just how lucky he was. This is what his mother wanted and never got. This is the life his aunt and uncle wanted and got too late. Maybe even his father had his regrets. He would give his daughter the life, the family, he never had. She would have brothers and sisters. And a father that loved her. He would love _all_ his children. He would lead them to take their first steps. He would teach them to talk. He would find his daughters nice boys to marry. And his sons—he would train them as pages and squires until they were the most skilled and noble knights of Leon. No one would dare wage war on Leon again while she was protected by the sons of Don Carlos Temple. But for now, he would protect all his girls until he could find peace.


	7. New Chapter 6

**Part Two: The Dragon's Claw**

**Chapter Six**

Tristan sat on his horse with his fist on his hip. He was seventeen and training to lead the armies of his father. He stared down where the squires were setting up the little two-inch joust ring. They signaled they were ready. Tristan was handed a lance. He took a deep breath and focused. His horse charged, and he aimed his lance at the target. The tip of the lance caught the ring with ease. Tristan smiled and handed his lance to a waiting squire. A few other squires taunted his success. "I never miss," he called back at them. The jeering continued. He laughed. "I am just that good."

"Tristan!" The prince turned and saw Soledad approaching him. His hair and short beard had begun to show some traces of grey. He was also spending less time in battle now and more time acting as an advisor to the king. "Your father wishes to see you, Mejo."

"Thank you, Sir Matias." He hopped off his horse and headed to see the king. "Yes, Father?" he asked on arrival.

"Ah, Tristan, yes," the king said motioning him in. His hair had finally turned completely grey, but he kept it long and wavy just past his shoulders unlike his son's which was still dark, straight, and short. His son had grown taller than he, and he felt that his belt shrunk with every passing year. "I have a few messages I'd like to share with you."

"I am ready to hear them," he replied taking a seat.

"Good. First, do you remember the young lady we spoke of?"

"Leonore? Yes."

"I have finalized arrangements with her father for your marriage."

"Will this marriage take place soon?" he asked slowly.

"We can give it a little more time. You are only seventeen, after all, and she's quite a bit younger, but I wanted to let you know."

Tristan nodded. "It's just . . . Have you ever been in love, Father?"

Philippe stared blankly for a moment. "Why? Is there someone special that I don't know about?"

Tristan shook his head. "No. I was just wondering."

Philippe shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"What about my mother?"

"What about her?"

"Your marriage was arranged. Did you love her?"

Philippe looked away from his son. "I hardly knew her. I wasn't home much. I was out with the army much of the time."

"So you loved someone else?"

He shifted. "It's difficult to say. I was very young."

"What happened to her?"

"My father wouldn't allow it. He was a stern old man. About as harsh as the King of Leon himself."

"So you let her go?"

"Tristan, I have made many sacrifices for the sake of this kingdom. Some of them I regret, but ultimately my responsibility is to the people. It's part of being the king, and I hope you understand that some day." Tristan nodded. Eager to change the subject, Philippe continued with his news. "Also, I'm pleased to say that the prince of Leon is sympathetic to our wishes. He also wants peace."

Tristan's heart skipped a beat. He would lead his father's armies if he had too. He was no coward, but peace would be an achievement for his family—something his father had been working on for as long as he could remember. "And_ his_ father?"

"Still king and not as sympathetic. But right now, we have the advantage, and he's interested in talking of peace."

Tristan really didn't see how they had the advantage. The best knight that either realm had seen in years was in Leon. "What of Don Temple?" he asked.

"What about him?" his father asked confused.

"I've heard of him and his success. He's the Champion of Leon. He kills men by the thousands every year."

Philippe smiled. He too had heard extravagant and exaggerated tales of the great knight of Leon. "He's a great knight, but he's one man. And somehow, I think _he's_ sympathetic to our views."

"What does the king want from you?"

"Well, I've spoken with the prince, and he seems to be dragging his father with him. We've been working on a treaty. He's suggested a tournament under banners of truce. We'll discuss more of the specifics there. Right now, whatever agreement of peace we come up with will be tenuous. But it's a start."

Carlos Temple lay spent in the grass with his wife, picking leaves and other debris from her hair. They had said little beyond greetings when he rode up on his horse surprising her. "Welcome home," she whispered.

He chuckled. "Yes. It is good to be back," he said kissing the top of her head.

She looked up at his face. "But what are you doing here? I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining, but why aren't you out in the field?"

"I bring news."

"And you were too lazy to write me?"

"I wanted to tell you in person. Besides, I probably couldn't spell it," he said with a grin.

"You could. You don't give yourself enough credit. Tell me what news, My Lord?"

"Prince Francisco has been negotiating with Philippe. They've called a truce. We are to have a tournament in the fall, and if all goes well, we shall have peace."

"Peace? Oh, Carlos, that's wonderful! Have you told Isabel?"

"Yes. She just sat and cried while Aracely danced around with our daughter."

"Oh, I could dance myself. We should celebrate."

"Yes. We shall feast tonight," he said idly brushing the hair from her face. He held her even closer and kissed her again. "This is what I've wanted for us—for our family."

She clung to him and whispered in his neck, "And I as well. And now we shall have it."

The celebration continued late into the night. Despite the revelry and the hours he had spent on the road, Carlos was unable to sleep. He had been working for peace for years, but it was finally sinking in what peace would mean for him. He was glad of it. As a boy, he remembered what it was like for him the first time he saw the "Hammer of Leon" and how glad he was that sweet Isabel never saw her husband that way. He knew he was the same. With the promise of peace, he knew his wife would never risk seeing him that way. He kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. She stirred.

"You're still up?" she whispered. He didn't answer her. She looked up at his pensive expression. "What are you thinking?"

"That I won't ever have to say goodbye to you again. And you won't ever see what I can be—what I've become."

She lay her head back on his chest. She didn't doubt that there was another side of him that she didn't see. She pretended it didn't exist. "How old were you when you started going to battle with your uncle?"

"13."

"13! You were a child! Isabel let you go?"

"No. Neither did my uncle. I was an arrogant youth, remember?" he replied smiling.

"Oh, Carlos, what did you do?"

He began telling a story. "Do you remember me telling you that Isabel protected me as much as she could when I was little? I thought Javier was being a little too overprotective as well. . . ."

_"They want us on the eastern flank," Javier Temple said to one of his officers. He saw Carlos standing nearby watching obviously eager. "What do you want, Boy?"_

_ "I want to go."_

_ "No. You stay with the baggage."_

_ "Uncle, I can," he began to protest._

_ "No! I have ordered you to stay. And stay you will." He didn't wait for an answer, but he mounted his horse and left._

_ "It's for your own good," a young knight serving his uncle called out to him._

_ "I can help."_

_ "We don't need it," he called out, riding away._

_ Carlos was tired of being babied. His uncle had let him come, but he still kept him behind. He was generally not disobedient, but he wanted to fight. He ignored the stares from the other squires as he went and grabbed a sword. He went toward the site of the battle. Once he heard the sounds of clanging steel, he inched toward them slowly drawing his sword. He saw a body lying on the ground. His face was turned away as he lay on the red earth. His heart was beating faster, and he could feel his palms begin to sweat. He stood on the edge of the battlefield. He saw bodies littered as far as his eye could tell. He spotted his uncle near him on horseback yelling orders and rallying his little band. Carlos thanked God Isabel never saw him like this. This was the man of legend that he had heard of. He hoped he could be half the soldier he was. He heard sounds growing closer. He had been spotted by the enemy. By the way the man looked at him Carlos knew he thought him a coward who was hiding from action. Carlos readied himself against the attacker, defending himself rather well against the first few blows—or so at least he thought. The common swordsman laughed. He called out to one of comrades who was nearby, "Look here! This squire's learned to dance." He attacked again—punching Carlos in the jaw. The shock of the blow sent him to the ground with his sword out of reach. Carlos looked up to see him approach and felt something he had not felt for a long time—fear. He had disobeyed his uncle and now he would pay for it with his life. He watched as his opponent's sword was about to fall. Someone rushed between them and deflected the attack. His rescuer killed both enemy swordsmen and turned to face him. It was his uncle. "What did I tell you, Boy?" he said grabbing him by the collar and jerking him off the ground. Carlos saw more coming over his uncle's shoulder. "Look out," he said shoving the older man away from danger. He picked up his sword. He knocked the first back, and after exchanging a few blows with the second, he ran him through. He discovered pulling a sword from a body wasn't as easy as he thought, but the battlefield was littered with tools for the resourceful. After throwing a discarded helmet at the first, his uncle watched him tackle the assailant. They stayed down for what seemed an eternity. Javier stood and pulled Carlos's sword from the dead man and walked over to where Carlos had regained his feet. The other man was dead. "How?" Carlos showed him a dagger held in his bloody hands. Javier looked out over the field. The enemy was retreating. His uncle held his sword up. Carlos reached for it, but Javier pulled it from his reach. "This is yours when I say it is. Understand?" Carlos nodded. "Come on," he said walking across the field. He guided him through the dead, the maimed, and the parts. Many cheered, but there was one voice he heard above the rest. A young man, not much older than himself, was lying on the ground crying. He kept saying he didn't want to die. Carlos's eyes were fixed on the dying man. A few yards away Javier turned abruptly, and Carlos almost ran into him. "That could've been you. What would I have told Isabel? Huh?" Carlos stared at the ground. "You have much to learn." He continued walking, and Carlos followed. He introduced him to an old yeoman. "I've brought you some help."_

_ The toothless man grinned. "What good would that youth do me? I need some strong men with strong backs."_

_ "All the same. He's so anxious to go into battle, and I want him to see every inch of it."_

_ His uncle turned to go. Carlos grabbed his arm. "What am I supposed to be doing with this man?"_

_ "Burying the dead."_

_ Late that night, Carlos, covered in gore, walked up to his uncle who sat by the fire in front of his tent. Javier was glad to see him in such a state. He remembered that his first experience had made him sick as a dog. He hoped the boy learned that war was more guts than glory. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" he asked._

_ "Sit. What did you learn today?"_

_ "You learn from masters, but when fighting for your life, sometimes you forget the rules and improvise."_

_ "And from your duties this afternoon?"_

_ "Death is impartial. High, low. Old, young. Not that it shocked me too much. I've seen death. But . . ."_

_ "But what?"_

_ "Blood. I've never seen so much of it." He paused. "Uncle, I . . . I'm sorry. . . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm a coward. The man you saved me from—all I could think of was I didn't want to die. I froze up. I couldn't think of anything else. I should have been able to defeat him. You're right. It could have been me that died today. It should have been me."_

_ "You recovered quickly."_

_ "Not quick enough if it hadn't been for you. Besides, what would I have told Isabel?"_

_ "Is that the boy?" Temple jumped from his seat at the sound of Don Reyes's voice. "Looks like he got his hands dirty."_

_ "Yes, I had him help with the dead."_

_ "I heard you fought like a real man today. I look forward to having you with us this fall. I'll have my eye on you Temple."_

_ Don Reyes walked away, and Carlos glanced at his uncle confused. "What was he talking about?"_

". . . Then, my uncle told me about sending me to Don Reyes's, and the rest is history."

"Never again, My Love," she whispered.

"I know. Francisco and I hope so at least."

"You will succeed. You and our crown prince make such a good team."  
"Yeah?"

"He has the luxury of sitting back and having you fight his battles for him."

Carlos chuckled. "I don't envy him. I'd rather fight hordes of knights than risk irking the king."

"Do you . . . I mean . . . with the peace and all . . ."

"What?" he asked when she failed to continue.

"Your father?"

He immediately tensed. "What about him?"

"Well, there won't be a war—no reason to pretend anymore."

"I'm not doing this for _him_."

"No. I know. But, Carlos . . ."

"No," he said forcefully shaking his head. "He didn't want me then. He can't have me _or _my family now." She was silent a moment. "Although," he said softening. "I should probably thank him. I wouldn't have known Javier, Isabel, Aracely, or you."

"Do you think he might try to find you?"

"I would rather he didn't. I am content as I am. The man who condemned my family to die can stay where he is." She began to speak. "Sofie, he cast me off. He never wanted me or cared enough to help. If it had been up to him, he would have left me to die in the snow. We have peace. Fine. But he didn't want to be around then; he doesn't get to now."

"I understand. I just . . . I would want to know. And I would want to know why," she said with a yawn. He could have told her then. But he didn't want to burden her. Ignorance in this case was bliss. "You were lucky though."

"I was?"

"You had your aunt and uncle. Even though I was legitimate, I had noone when my father died. I've been virtually ignored by my guardian the past decade or so."

"Then given as some prize to some penniless bastard because the rogue showed a little talent."

"How I suffer . . ." she replied laughing and trying to extricate herself from his embrace.

"You're going?"

"Mmhmmm. To check on your daughter."

"I want more. . . . more children."

"So do I, My Lord," she replied and kissed his cheek.

"Then stay."

"But . . ."

"There are a house full of people who will gladly see to that baby. Stay."

"Haven't you celebrated enough? I think you've had enough of me."

"Never. I will love you Lady Sofia Temple until the day I die."

King Philippe had succeeded in his efforts at peace thus far. The process had seemed to be moving slowly, but at least it was moving forward. He had arrived at the tournament, and all seemed to be going well. He walked down the hall with his son and the leaders of Leon. So far, the tournament was successful in uniting the kingdoms to a degree, and their hopes of peace seemed to be coming to fruition. The King of Leon was not happy, but he was going along with it. Everyone else seemed pleased at the idea of peace—well, most. There were a few grudges here and there, but the idea of peace seemed to be a welcome one. War had made every person of every class weary. Peace would be a welcome rest.

As they continued to their destination, a little girl ran up to them with flowers in her hair. A young pregnant woman followed her trying to keep up. Philippe thought she was an attractive child with her dark hair and big brown eyes. She couldn't have been much more than two years old, and when she saw him and Tristan, she shyly hid in her mother's skirts. The King of Leon spoke. "Well there is our little princess—our little Lady of Asturius." He nodded at her mother. "And the future Don Temple, we hope."

Philippe tensed slightly at the name. He looked back at the child looking for a resemblance between her and Carlos Temple.

Her mother grinned, placing a hand on her belly. "We hope so too, Your Majesty, but we'll be happy with whatever gift God gives us."

"Yes, of course. Lady Temple is ever the diplomat, even with the Almighty. My Lady, let me introduce you to our royal guests. This is King Philippe and his son Tristan. Sire, this is Lady Sofia Temple, the wife of my champion Don Temple."

"And this is his daughter?" Philippe asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied placing a hand on her dark head. "As if he could deny her though," she said with a chuckle. She looked down at the child. "Why are you being so shy? Say 'hello.'" She peeked around her mother's leg but said nothing.

Philippe knelt and took a flower that had fallen from her head to the floor. "I believe this is yours, My Lady," he said handing it to her. She shyly took it and dove back to her mother. He chuckled.

"What do you say?" her mother said.

"T'ank you."

"You are very welcome, My Lady." Philippe heard heavy footsteps approaching from down the hall. He looked up and saw a young man in his mid-twenties approaching. He could be no other than Don Carlos Temple. He recognized him though he had not seen him since he was a teenager. He couldn't help but compare him with Tristan. Temple was shorter by a few inches, and his features were less soft. They both had dark hair and brown eyes. But Temple's hair was lighter and more wavy and his eyes a little lighter, more golden brown while his complexion was darker. Temple approached holding his rage in check. Philippe knew why he was angry but did not know what Temple was going to do about it. Philippe determined to smooth things over the best he could and ignoring him would not help the situation. Right now he would do anything for the sake of peace. "Hello, Carlos, it's been a long time," he called out to him.

"I'm called Don Temple now."

"Right. Forgive me, Don Temple. You have a beautiful family, Sir." By now Temple had reached the royal personages. He stepped between them and his wife.

"Stay away from them."

"Don Temple, I was only . . ."

"Leave my family be. I'll not let you destroy their lives as you did mine," he said calmly but coldly. His wife tried to interrupt her husband, but he ignored her.

"It was never my intention . . ."

"Just leave them be."

The nobles gathered for a feast in the hall. Temple roamed, meeting and greeting various lords and ladies. "There he is! There's the man of the hour." He turned and saw an older knight approaching him that he didn't recognize. "Sir Carlos Temple. We meet again." Carlos stared at him confused. "You don't remember? Sir Leondro de Roig. I found you trespassing in Philippe's camp about twenty years ago. Then we found you in that field. You attacked King Philippe. Remember? Been fighting him ever since, huh? You've certainly made a name for yourself."

"Yes, Sir."

"My boy is gonna give you some competition. Sir Ruiz de Roig."

"I'm sure he's very talented, but I believe I am to meet someone else in the lists tomorrow."

"Yes, but it could come down to the two of you."

"Depends on how well he does against Baltasar de Soledad."

"True. True. Matias's son is a very competent knight. This is my boy's year though. He's the uncontested champion of the city of Calahorra—two years running."

Temple smiled. "Champion of Leon—over three years running." A little girl ran and grabbed Temple's leg. He picked her up. She rubbed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder.

"That your kid? I heard you married up."

Temple glanced over at his wife who was speaking with various lords and ladies as well. "That's right. I certainly didn't marry beneath me."

Leondro nodded. "Well, good luck. You'll need it."

"Tell Sir Ruiz the same." He looked at his sleepy child. He grinned and kissed her head. "Come on. Let's go find Mama."

He approached his wife. He remained a polite distance while she spoke with some of the guests from Philippe's kingdom. "There's my husband now," she said smiling. The little girl reached for her mother, and Sofia took her. "This is Don Temple," she said introducing him. She asked if he knew the knights and lords that she was speaking to. He said he did, and his wife excused herself and went to put the little girl to bed. Temple turned back to the crowd and almost ran into a young man taller than he. He recognized him as the prince. He cocked an eyebrow in a questioning glance.

"Hi," Tristan said. Temple said nothing. "I remember you being taller."

"Things change. What do you want?"

"Just to say that I'm glad about the peace and everything, and good luck at the tournament tomorrow. I'm anxious to see you compete."

"You're still too young?"

"My father thinks so. . . . You know, all those years ago, I asked him about you. I asked him if he really killed your family."

"Did he deny it?"

"No. He said he was responsible, but he wouldn't talk about it. I was just a kid. He really does feel bad about you though. He blames himself."

"I guess that's something." Temple tried to walk away, but the young prince kept talking.

"You seem to have done well for yourself. You have a nice family."

Temple sighed, turned back, and tried to make conversation with the young prince. "Anything for the sake of peace," he reminded himself. "Your father ready to marry you off?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm recently betrothed. Was your marriage arranged?" He nodded. "Just seems things would start out kinda awkward, huh? You seem to be a happy little family now though."

"Tristan," Temple began.

"Yeah?"

"You talk too much," he said and walked away.

After he completed his tour about the room, Temple returned to his chambers where his wife waited for him. She had put their daughter to bed and was watching for him wearing a strange look on her face. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"I understand now," she said softly.

"I don't . . ."

"I met your father today." His expression went blank. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? I don't . . . You don't know . . ."

"He has your eyes."

"A lot of people have brown eyes," he replied staring at the floor.

"Not like yours. His wife must have had brown eyes too."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your brother's eyes are brown. But not like yours. Or his."

"I don't have a brother," he said coldly.

"Yes, you do. You know you do. You told me about what happened when you were held by Philippe. Why didn't you tell me you met your father?"

"I met a lot of people—guards, knights. And I didn't say I never met him. . . . And I don't even know who you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. And you know I'm right. You also knew who he was." While Temple's tone had grown more defensive, his wife's remained calm and steady. "I saw the look on your face when you saw me speaking with him."

He sighed. "I'm not supposed to know. And when they took me from that field when I was a child, I didn't know. Isabel told me before I joined Don Reyes. And it's no shock that I met him. Our paths were going to cross eventually." He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't tell you because you didn't ask. I don't see how knowing makes things any easier. Sometimes, I wish I didn't know."

"Does he know about you?"

"My mother told him."

"Does your brother know?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it."

She was silent a moment. "You should talk to him."

He tensed. "For what?"

"Hear his story."

"To hear him justify destroying my mother's life? And mine?"

"You truly think your life is that bad? Whatever happened in the past has worked out for the best. Don't you think? Carlos, the peace between us and Leon is wonderful. It will keep you home with us more. The idea of this land at peace just thrills me, but I wish to see _you_ at peace more."

"I'm at peace."

"By ignoring it? Carlos, make peace with him. It will be good for the both of you. Let him play with his granddaughter."

"He didn't want me. What makes you think he'll have anything to do with her?"

"I think he would appreciate it. I saw the way he looked at her. And your brother is just adorable."

He smiled. "Then I shall divorce you so you can marry him. But I keep the kids," he said and collapsed on the bed.

She didn't make light of the situation. "Maybe he loved your mother. Did you think of that? I'm sure he wanted you."

"How?"

"Because I saw the way he looked at you too. I'm sure he's done what he could."

"How do you know?" he asked bitterly.

"I don't. But neither do you. You have no idea what he's been thinking the past twenty-five years. Ask him. Now is the perfect time. It may be the only time."

"We'll see."

"Carlos . . ."

"I said, 'We'll see.'"

She didn't wish to annoy him further so she let it drop. She did, however, bring it up one more time. She was leaving for Asturius to await the arrival of the baby. Temple picked up his daughter and kissed her goodbye before setting her in the coach. She looked back at him. "You go too?"

"Not today." She poked her bottom lip out, and it began to quiver. He chuckled and smoothed her hair. "I'll be home before you know it." She seemed satisfied and sat down.

"Be careful," Sofia told him reaching out and touching his arm.

"I will. And the same goes for you. I take it Aracely is staying with me to watch the tournament?"

Sofia smiled. "One of us has to keep an eye on you."

He grinned. "With all these 'dreamy' knights around, someone ought to keep an eye on _her_."

She paused for a moment. She then reached out and touched him. "Talk to your father. You're the Champion of Leon. He'll have to listen to you."

"I'll wait til peace is signed."

"You're stalling."

"I just . . . that'll be one less thing to deal with. When peace is signed, I'll talk to him," he said pulling her into his arms.

She sighed. "Peace? Sounds good doesn't it?"

"It does."

"What will _you _do with peace?" she asked smiling.

"Hmm. True. This is all I know. I guess you'll have to teach me."

"You have been more faithful with your lessons than I have with mine."

He caressed her belly. "You've been busy. You can't exactly joust or wield a sword in your condition."

"I really do hope this one's a boy. I see you playing with and training those pages and squires. You'll be great with a son."

"You think?"

"You make me laugh. Before we married, they told me you were arrogant. But you leave all that confidence on the battlefield, the lists, the garrison."

He shrugged. "That's where it serves me best."

"You will be careful?"

"Always."

She kissed his cheek. "Goodbye."

"Have a safe trip."

"Love you."

"You too. But you should go. Isabel is waiting for you."

Tristan watched the tournament idly. He watched the warriors of his own realm as well as the knights of Leon. This part of the tournament bored him. It was plain to all who would be fighting for the win. So far the most impressive were Ruiz de Roig, and Baltasar de Soledad—the champion of his father the king—and, of course, Don Temple. He remembered Temple vaguely from when he was a boy, but he knew he was talented then, and it seemed nothing or no one could stop him now. The match between Soledad and de Roig finally arrived. It was close, but Soledad became the victor. He would fight Don Temple to determine the champion.

The final day of the tournament approached, and Tristan was anxious to see who would win the day: his father's champion or the Champion of Leon. As he was dressing, his father entered. "I'm afraid, I have to return home, Mejo."

Tristan was shocked by his announcement. "But the treaty . . ."

"I know. I must return—it's a matter of importance to me."

"What could be more important than this treaty you've worked so hard for?"

"One of my father's most beloved advisors died, and I need to be at his funeral. It's a ceremonial thing. And peace is almost achieved. The Prince of Leon and I have worked everything out. All that's left is to complete the tournament and sign the treaty. I'll leave you as an assurance of my good will—also, I'd hate to take you away when the conclusion is so near. I'm sure you wish to see the end. I'm leaving Lord Chancellor Augustin to act on my behalf."

"Why can't I?"

"Too young, Mejo." Tristan shrugged. It was plain that _he_ didn't think he was too young. "Your time will come." Tristan looked away. "So who do you think will win?" his father asked to ease the tension.

"Don't know. Soledad looks fit. But so does Temple."

"Hmm. Yes. It's going to be close. I kind of hope Temple wins. Maybe it will make Leon a little less uneasy about signing our treaty—you know, if his knight wins the tournament, at least he'll maintain some of his bragging rights."

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"Don Temple is a bastard of one of your knights, yes?"

Philippe was made nervous by Tristan's comment. "That is the tale as it was told to me," he replied cautiously. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering which one?"

"Now, Tristan, I've warned you about meddling," he replied sternly.

"I'm not ten years old anymore. I just want to know how he fits. I'm going to be king someday. I need to know what's going on in my realm—what went on in my realm."

"It's . . . his father has his own obligations. His own family to think of. If he'd wanted anybody to know, he would have revealed himself long ago."

"What? Is he ashamed? Who would be ashamed to have a son like that?"

"It's complicated, Tristan. And _you_ knowing won't benefit you any. It will only burden you. As it has me."

"You still hold yourself responsible?"

"Yes."

"He holds you responsible as well. But why you and not his father?"

Philippe shrugged. "It was my army. My responsibility. But I'm sure he holds us both equally responsible. He just takes it out on me—the public figure—because he can without revealing too much. I don't think he wants anyone to know either."

"Maybe it's because he doesn't know himself."

"I'm pretty sure he knows."

"You said his father has his own family." Philippe nodded. "Does he look like them?"

"There is a family resemblance, yes. Why?"

"He reminds me of someone. I just can't put my finger on it. I know them, don't I?"

"Tristan, I will tell you no more. You know far more than is good for you already. But before I go, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything, Father."

"Leave Temple be. You saw how he reacted when he saw me with his wife and child. You're my son—he won't treat you any better. This peace being so tenuous . . ."

"I understand."

"Good." Philippe smiled. "And when I see you again, Mejo, we shall have peace."

Tristan sat with Augustin on the dais as they watched the conclusion of the tournament. Soledad fought bravely, but in the end, he was outmatched by the knight of Leon. He yielded and Francisco, the Prince of Leon, acting as marshal of the tournament, declared Temple the winner. Temple reached out an arm and helped Soledad off the dirt. The crowd cheered for Temple, and he acknowledged them which only increased their enthusiasm. He shook Soledad's hand and approached the dais. The King of Leon offered his congratulations to his knight and announced him as the champion of not only Leon but Philippe's realm also.

"Not so fast, Sire," Augustin interrupted.

"Something you'd like to add, Chancellor?" the king asked perturbed at being interrupted.

"That is Carlos Temple, yes? It is my understanding that he is illegitimate."

"What of it?"

Temple and Tristan watched the interchange with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. "It is our policy. We do not make bastards champions. We don't even allow them to compete in our tournaments."

"We have no such rule. And my champion has defeated yours. Or were you not watching?"

Tristan felt he should speak on behalf of his father. "My Lord Chancellor, given the circumstances, I'm sure the king would allow . . ."

"Quiet, Boy. The king left _me_ as his representative. You—to see sport. And given the circumstances, my lord the king allowed this Temple to compete as a favor, but to make him champion? I don't think so."

A violent dispute erupted between the king and Augustin. Tristan and Soledad argued against Augustin on behalf of Temple. They knew how long Philippe had worked for peace, and this was not reason enough to sacrifice it. Temple himself along with Francisco tried to calm the King of Leon—arguing that being declared champion was not that important, but the King of Leon would not be insulted in such a way, or maybe he just needed an excuse to refuse the peace that was offered to him. In the end, no agreement could be reached, and Augustin left outraged.

In the confusion, Matias de Soledad grabbed Tristan by the arm. "We're getting you out of here before the King of Leon kills you or tries to hold you for ransom."

Tristan along with Soledad and his son made their way through the crowds. When they reached the stables to get their horses, Temple was waiting for them. Matias tensed and put a hand on his sword. "What do you want, Temple?"

"Don't go," he said hoarsely.

Matias looked on confused. He replied, "I'm acting on behalf of my prince. My only concern is for his safety."

Temple nodded. He spoke, but it appeared that it pained him to say it. "Soledad, I've never asked you for anything. Not in my whole life. Please. _Please._ Don't leave." Tristan saw the desperate look on Temple's face, and it made him nervous. That face would forever be ingrained on his memory. "We both know what will happen if you do. If Tristan stays, my king will be reassured of Philippe's intentions. When old Gus gets to Philippe and tells him what happened, Philippe will be here with his apologies. By then, Leon will have calmed down and talks will resume, and we will have peace. If you leave, Leon will be insulted. He will hear of no talks of peace no matter how many apologies your king sends. There will be no peace. You know this."

"I have to think of Tristan's safety . . ."

"I know. And I will guard him myself with my life." Temple paused. "My wife is at home awaiting the birth of a child and news of peace. Don't make me send her a message saying I'm not coming home. That I have to return to campaigning against Philippe. That I have to break my promise to my wife. That I will miss the birth of my child because your chancellor dashed our hopes of peace. Don't make me do that to my wife."

Tristan believed him. He was about to take a step toward him and offer to stay, but Matias put a protective hand on his shoulder to stop him. "I'm sorry. I know you're right. But your king? I know you don't like to admit it, but Philippe saved you from his rage once. He's volatile at best. You know this. I know you want peace. And I know you'd do all you could to protect Tristan. But I'm sorry. I can't risk it."

Aracely paced in front of her brother's room. She wondered where he had disappeared to. Everything had been turned upside down since the king stormed from the field. She needed her brother there so she could talk to him. She needed him to explain what had just happened and what it meant. When he finally arrived, he just stared at her with a pained expression on his face. "Carlos? What's wrong? What's happening? I don't understand."

He hugged her. "I have to . . . I have to get the men ready and go back."

"'Back'? You mean home." He shook his head. "But what about the peace?"

"There will be no peace now."

"But . . . I thought . . ."

He shook his head and slumped down on a couch. "I talked to Prince Francisco. The king wants me back in the field as soon as possible. Francisco said he'd see to it that you made it home safely."

"But what about mother and Sofia?"

"Send them my love. And my apologies. Give everyone a hug and a kiss for me."

She could tell the recent events had upset him greatly. She had never seen him look so absolutely dejected. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I will. You will be careful?"

He nodded. "Take care of Sofie. And my little girl. She won't understand."

"I will. And hurry home. We'll be waiting for you."

Tristan arrived at his father's fortress and hurried to find the king. He could hear him yelling from down the hall. "I trusted you! I told you I wanted peace! At almost any cost! And this is how you repay me?" Tristan and Matias entered the room to find Philippe pacing fitfully, yelling at a calmly seated Augustin. "You couldn't make one concession! _One concession_!"

"I have acted as Lord Chancellor since the reign of your father. He would have supported my decision."

"Yes, well, he's dead." Philippe sighed in frustration and ran a hand over his face. "I am relieving you of your office," he said calmly.

"My Lord?"

"Soledad, congratulations. You are now my chancellor."

"Thank you, Sire," Matias replied confused.

"You can't do that!" Augustin protested jumping out of his chair.

"I just did. You've ruined our chance at peace. Leon is probably forming an army as we speak. Now go. Before I have you thrown in the dungeon for disobeying my wishes."

Augustin left along with Soledad leaving Tristan alone with his father. Philippe slumped down in a chair covering his face with his hand. Tristan pitied his father. For as long as he could remember, he had been trying for peace. Just when it was within his grasp, it slipped away. "I'm sorry, Father. I should have stayed." He related the story of Temple pleading with them to stay.

"No. Soledad was right. It was best you got out of there." Tristan was silent while his father contemplated the situation. "You and Soledad probably rank just beneath me on his hit list now though."

"I thought Temple said you killed his family. Soledad said you saved his life from the King of Leon."

"The King of Leon punished his family for tolerating me. Temple escaped. We found him and delivered him to his uncle."

"And he hates you for it? I don't understand."

"He was a frightened child then. He was confused. But I _was_ the reason for the attack. I don't blame him for blaming me."

"What do we do now?" Tristan asked after a pause.

Philippe sighed. "Call up the troops."

The weeks went by. Whatever advantage Philippe had over Leon was lost. Leon had united under the insult, and a campaign had been launched. They were successful. Philippe's army lost battle after battle, and most of those battles were led by young Don Temple. Tristan watched as a messenger brought Philippe another message from the field. He swore. He picked up a stack of messages and threw them down one by one saying, "Temple, Temple, Temple, Temple, Temple! Every time I turn around there that boy is!" He pounded his fist on the table sending most of the contents on the table to the floor. "Will no one rid me of this man?" he yelled in frustration, and Ruiz de Roig took him at his word.


	8. New Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Don Temple sat by the fire warming his hands. It was the first rest he had since the tournament. It took the first snow of the year to slow down his king's assault against Philippe. His forces were united, strong, and unbelievably successful. Despite the failure of the tournament, maybe they would have peace after all.

He thought about how long he would have to be here before he could go home. He had an agreement with his liege over how many days a year he was required to be with the army. He was sure he had fulfilled his obligation by now, but he couldn't see his king just letting him go home when they were so close. But within a month or two, he would have another child. His wife would need him. His daughter would need him. He knew they could manage, especially with Isabel there, but he needed to be at home with them. He _wanted_ to be home with them.

"My Lord!" one of his squires called with a sense of emergency in his voice. He looked up to see him running toward him. "Sir Temple, a rider arrives from Asturius. He brings news. It's urgent. There has been an attack."

Temple vaulted from his seat and ran with the squire to the just-arrived messenger. He looked half dead. His clothes were dirty and covered in soot. Temple could see no obvious wounds, but the man shivered with cold and was weak with hunger. Temple became instantly nervous by his appearance, and he began to tremble. "Get him to the fire," he said. They ushered him to the warmth of the fire and brought him food and drink. "What's going on?"

"Forgive me, My Lord. All is not well at home."

"_What is going on?_"

"A small part of Philippe's army made it past your line. They burned several villages. Then they lay siege to the castle. They burned everything, took everything worth anything—including the livestock, killed anyone who resisted."

"My family? What of my family?"

"They still lived when I left them. But with the cold and lack of food, sickness began to spread. Your aunt and the little girl were sick. They sent me to get help. They were going to make their way to the convent to seek refuge."

Temple shook his head. "No. They'll never make it that far—not in this weather with sick women and children."

"They would never have made it if they stayed, and they could not come this far."

"When?"

"They stayed about a week. They left six days ago."

He felt the anger in him rising. "Why have I not heard of this sooner?"

"I got here as soon as I could," the messenger replied helplessly. "Everything happened very quickly."

Temple didn't even wait to hear him finish. He was calling frantically for his horse. His squire was trying to calm him down, but he kept yelling for his horse. When it was finally brought to him, saddled and prepared for a journey, he mounted it, and he and his squire made their way to Asturius. His poor squire did all he could to keep up with him. They stopped at the castle first. It was in ruins. Temple just sat there staring at the broken and charred stones scattered all around. Smoke still rose from somewhere deep within the debris.

"Sir?" his squire asked. "Sir? We have to rest. The horses can not go on."

The knight seemed to not hear him, but he dismounted anyway. The squire looked after the horses while he looked around in disbelief. The cold wind whistled around what was left of the walls. Temple climbed over the remains and stumbled and crawled over debris. There was nothing left—nothing to be salvaged. It was a good thing that whoever readied his horse had thought to pack provisions for him, or _he_ would have never made it to the convent. He continued exploring. He made it to the charred remains of the gate. He swore loudly and threw a large stone in frustration.

"My Lord?" his squire called.

"You see these hinges?" The squire nodded. "You see them? What do you see?" The squire shrugged, worried that Temple might just be losing his mind. He was obviously agitated. "They're fine. They're not broken. See?" The squire shook his head confused and a little afraid of his master. "Philippe's men didn't break down the door. They were let in."

"There's a traitor in our midst?"

"It's possible, but I don't think so. I think the villagers came seeking refuge. I bet this place was crawling with refugees. When they saw the army approaching, they knew they didn't stand a chance. So before the army starved them out, they surrendered. They let them in. They didn't fight back."

"But if they didn't fight back, then why . . ." The squire stopped at the expression on Temple's face, and Temple's anger made sense to him.

"They didn't fight back," he said softly. "They didn't fight back!" he screamed at the silent hills as if he were accusing an invisible foe.

When they and the horses had rested, they continued their journey to the convent. Temple was heedless of the darkness and the cold. He only stopped when his squire insisted the horses needed rest. He himself seemed to require none. Along the way, they spotted a few bodies. They stopped briefly to examine them. They had been covered but not given a proper burial. A thin layer of snow covered them. These people deserved better, but he understood why the caravan would leave them instead of taking the time and energy to inter them in the frozen ground. When he made it to the convent, Temple would have to see to it that this was taken care of. He looked among the faces for one that he knew. The first couple of bodies he didn't recognize even though they looked vaguely familiar. The third was Tomas—his chaplain. The anger continued to stir in him. He was a priest—an innocent, unarmed man of God. Where was the courage—the honor—in that? He returned the cover over the man's face. He pinched the bridge of his nose and fell back against a tree.

"You knew him?" his squire asked from the road. Temple nodded. "We'll rest the horses a bit," the squire called. He knew his master would never admit it, but he needed a rest.

"He was an innocent man," Temple said almost to himself. "If they wanted me, why didn't they come after me? Why them?"

The squire shrugged while rubbing down the horses. "You can't be beaten with a sword or a lance. I guess he wanted to hit you where it would hurt the most. Maybe he thought he'd find you at home. You were expecting a baby."

He looked at his squire harshly. "I still am."

"Of course. Sorry."

"Do we know who did this?"

"While you were going crazy for your horse, the man who brought you the message said it was Sir Ruiz de Roig."

"I know of him. And his father. He's one of Philippe's knights."

He and his squire said nothing else until they departed again. When they finally arrived at the convent, Temple knocked on the gate. "I'm Don Carlos Temple, Lord of Asturius." Before he finished his sentence, the door was flung open.

"Oh, thank heavens. Please, My Lord, hurry."

He dismounted, and she led him quickly through the halls. There was a room of ragged people eating at tables in front of a fire. "Survivors, My Lord," she explained.

"So few?" She didn't answer. He looked for four faces in particular and saw none of them. "Where is my family?"

"Please, hurry." The nun began to tell him of the tragedies that had passed. "I'm sorry, My Lord, but your daughter passed away soon after they arrived. She was very ill along with your aunt. Your dear wife worked so hard to care for both of them. I told her a woman in her condition didn't need to be around the sick. She should have been in bed herself, but she insisted. She wouldn't leave the little girl. After all she had been through, combined with the grief, she went into labor." The nun arrived at a door. She placed a hand on it and paused. "It was a difficult delivery."

His mouth went dry. "How is she?"

"She lives. Barely. She probably won't make it through the night."

"The baby?"

"My Lord, your son only lived a few hours."

He felt the grief beginning to press heavily on his chest, but he tried to brush it aside—at least for the moment. "Where is she? Can I see her? I want to see her."

"Yes. Just through here," she opened the door. "She's resting, but I know she wants to see you."

Temple stepped softly into the room still trying to process all that had been told to him. He took her hand. "Sofia? Sofie?"

"Carlos?" she opened her eyes. "I'm dreaming," she said softly.

"No. I heard. I came as soon as—"

"I prayed that I would get to see you. Just one more time."

"You're not dying," he said forcibly shaking his head.

"I'm not?"

"No. We're fighters you and I." She was cold so he threw his cloak over her on top of the blankets while he spoke.

She smiled weakly. "Not this time." She took his arm and wrapped herself in it. "I'm sorry, Carlos."

"No, no. It's not your fault." He found himself fighting tears. "It's not your fault."

"You'll stay with me?"

"I'm not leaving." He crawled into bed with her and held her. "We have to get you warm."

She clung to his arm. "He was beautiful. He had a head full of dark hair."

"Don't talk. Just rest."

"He cried for a while. Then just whimpered." A tear spilled down her cheek. He wiped it away. "I couldn't help him. The nuns took him away from me. They thought he was upsetting me. Is he okay? Have you seen him?"

"No, he's . . . Don't worry about him. He's not hurting anymore."

"I'm sorry."  
"Shhh. . ."

"Our beautiful little girl . . ."

"Hush. I know. Rest." He held her rubbing her cold clammy skin and watched her sleep. He cursed Philippe. Was it not enough that he took his grandparents and his parents away from him? His army had taken his uncle—the man that raised him. Why his wife and children? What had they done? They were innocent. And his sister? He was almost afraid to ask. No one had mentioned her. He clung to his wife. This wasn't happening. It wasn't happening. She was everything to him. With all the fighting and dying, she kept him sane. He couldn't lose her too. She would get stronger. She would live. He wouldn't let her die. She was going to be okay. It was going to be okay. As he watched her, he succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

He awoke to his squire and few of the surviving men from the village getting him out of the bed. "What are you doing? She needs me." He looked at her and knew she didn't need him anymore. She was at peace. He still felt the need to hold her. "No!" he called out as he fought them off, but there were too many of them. They finally succeeded in holding him back long enough for others to move the body of his wife. They lessened their hold, and he shrugged them off. Temple slumped against the wall. He slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands and began to sob. A nun went to comfort him, but his squire held her back.

"Let him be." His squire walked to the room with the rest of the refugees. He leaned on the wall and whittled, waiting for his master.

An hour passed, and Don Temple emerged. His face was still red and unwashed. He had a stern cold look on his face. All stared at him warily. He grabbed the first man he came to by the collar and threw him against the wall. "What happened?"

"Sir? I don't know. I–"

He pulled out a dagger. "I want to know what happened. And you're gonna tell me." Everyone in the room held their breath. Children inched closer to their parents who in turn held them protectively.

"Sir, I swear. I don't know. I was working in my village. I'm a chandler, you see. The watchman—he sounded the warning. An army was coming. We fled to the castle. I know they burned the village. I didn't see it, but I saw the smoke. Next thing I know, we were out in the snow again—coming here."

"Excuse me, My Lord?" a brave young man said approaching him cautiously. Temple turned toward him. He was only a teenager with long, dark hair.

"What?" he said coldly.

"Perhaps I can help. Your captain of the guard let me serve as a messenger." Temple lessened his hold of the chandler and gave his attention to the boy. "My father is a sword maker. Well, _was_ a sword maker."

"I don't give a damn about your lineage. Tell me why my family is dead."

"The refugees came. Just like he said. Then the army was spotted coming toward the castle. Your wife and captain of the guard exchanged several messages. They knew they couldn't get a messenger through the troops. Even if they could, you wouldn't arrive in time. We would of starved waiting for aid. Your wife sent out an envoy and asked what they wanted. They said they wanted you. They were told you were out with the army, but they didn't believe us. Your wife surrendered to them. They moved us all out of the protection of the walls and into the cold while they searched for you. They took days and left no stone unturned. Still not convinced, they burned the place just in case you were still hiding. They kept us under guard so we couldn't get anyone out to you, and they gave us very little food. We were hungry and cold, and that's when the sickness started. After they burned the place, they left us there. They took everything. They killed most of the guards and anyone else they thought might be a threat. They took the rest of the guard as prisoners. Your wife sent one of us to you for help, and she led us here. If not for her, we'd all be dead."

Temple's face didn't change expression during the young man's dialogue. The boy trembled at the wild look in Temple's eyes.

Temple sighed. "Ready my horse," he said without emotion. A servant nodded and left the room. Temple again looked around the room. Everyone avoided his gaze. He finally asked the question that he knew he didn't really want answered. "Where is my sister?" he asked softly. No one looked up. He grabbed the young man by the collar and made him look at him. He saw the fear in his eyes. "Tell me."

The boy swallowed. "They took her. They kept her as a hostage to keep us in line. And when they left, they took her."

Temple shoved the boy away from him before he struck him. Or worse. He was ready to kill someone. "My Lord?" He turned at the sound of the soft feminine voice. The nun who had led him to his wife stood there shaking in fear. "Your aunt? She lives still. I'll take you to her if you wish to see her."

Temple trembled with rage but allowed himself to be led from the room. The remaining occupants breathed a sigh of relief at his departure.

"What happened to your father?" the squire asked the young man who had bravely given Temple the information he wanted.

The boy hung his head. "They killed him. . . . I wanna go too," he said after a moment.

"Go where?"

"With you and your master. I want revenge just as much as you do."

"What's your name?"

"Alfonso."

"Alfonso, listen," he said lowering his voice. "You're too young."

"I am not!"

"You are, and you don't have the training. And Temple isn't going to take the time to deal with you right now. But these people need someone to lead them. And I need you to do something for Temple."

"What?"

"Now that you all seem to be healing, take some strong men with you. Bury the dead. Rebuild a village or two. You can't stay here forever." The boy looked away. This was not the task he wanted. The squire reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "This is important. It's important to Temple. Even if he's forgotten it at the moment. Despite what you are thinking, this is noble too. And we'll come back for you."

"You will?"

"Yes. I'll recommend you to Temple. You'll get the training, and then you'll be sent out to kill the men who killed your father. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Good."

Temple allowed himself to be led to the small room where his aunt lay recovering from her illness. He stood over her and watched her sleep for a moment. In the months since he'd last seen her, she had aged considerably. "Will she live?"

"I don't know, My Lord," the nun replied.

Upon hearing the exchange his aunt opened her eyes and reached out to him. "Carlos? Is that you?"

He took her hand in his own. "Yes. I'm here."

"Sofia? They won't tell me anything."

"She is right where she wants to be . . . with her children."

"Oh no, not the baby too. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for you, Carlos."

"Shhh. . . . rest now."

The poor nun wiped away a tear, but she was relieved that the young man seemed to have calmed in the presence of his aunt.

"Aracely? They took her, Carlos. They . . ."

"Shhhh. . . . I know. Listen to me. You have done everything for me. I _will_ find your daughter, and I _will_ bring her back." He begin to pull away from her.

"Where are you going?"

His voice was cold and flat and his expression stern as he turned back to her. "Hunting."

Before he had left Asturius, De Roig had been faced with a predicament of his own making. Temple was not at home. He had searched the whole place, and he had been very thorough. He had also done everything in his power to keep anyone from finding out he was there. He had only come with a small raiding party and would never last against the full army of Leon that would surely come for him if they found out he had made it to Asturius. But the absent Temple would find out soon if he hadn't already. At the same time, he didn't want this trip to be a complete waste. He wanted to stay and use the man's family as hostages, but he was quickly reminded that he had left the fortress completely defenseless, and they would be vulnerable to any attack. They would have to leave and swiftly. He thought he might just bring Temple's family along. If he couldn't find Temple, he would just make it so Temple would find him. But once again, his advisors had warned against the plan. How would they move swiftly with a pregnant woman who could go into labor at any moment? They would only slow them down. The risk he had taken coming to Asturius would _not_ be in vain. Temple's cousin would move fast enough. And the two of them were close—like siblings. He would come for her. If he couldn't have Temple now, he would use the girl to get to him.

Temple crouched at the treeline staring down at the village nestled in the quiet little valley barely visible by the light of the moon. His squire tentatively approached. "My Lord? The rest of the men have arrived."

"Good. Tell them to make ready."

"Sir? The men can do no fighting now. They are exhausted. They must rest."

"Tell them to make ready. They will fight. They will fight for their wives, their children. We attack before dawn."

"Sir, those people down there? They're not soldiers."

"They belong to Philippe, don't they? That's enough." The squire stood silent a moment. Temple took his silence as an assent. "I want archers stationed there and there," he said pointing. "We go in, drag the people from their beds. If any of them resist, kill them. We leave nothing. Everything is to be burned. Take the horses and whatever livestock we can carry. Kill the rest."

When de Roig returned and told Philippe that he had burned Temple's home, the king was not pleased with what de Roig had done. But it was war, and maybe cutting off some of Temple's resources would be an advantage for them. Nothing else seemed to be working. But then he heard the latest rumor. "What have you done?" he asked de Roig in disbelief. The room was silent. Tristan and Matias could not believe it either. "All? They're _all_ dead?"

"That's what he said," de Roig replied referring to the messenger who brought them the news. "Well, not his aunt or cousin. Or sister or whatever the hell she's supposed to be."

Philippe didn't seem to hear him. "That sweet little girl is dead?" No one answered. He didn't really need confirmation. He knew the truth. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat. "No quarter asked and none given. So it has always been with the sons of Castilla. You have signed your death warrant, de Roig. He won't rest until you're dead."

"If he'd been at home, I would have killed him, and you would have praised my actions."

"Would I? You honestly think they would have just handed over their beloved liege? Husband? Father? Brother? And even if they did, you think _you_ could have killed him? You flatter yourself, de Roig. . . . And you killed his family!"

"I didn't touch them!"

"You might as well have. His daughter was a sweet little girl who did nothing to you! She was a _child_. And his wife? She was an innocent pregnant woman. She was in a weakened condition to start with. The way you left them didn't leave them much choice in the matter, did it?"

"Sire, perhaps all is not lost. I have his cousin. The one he calls his sister. We can use her to get to Temple."

Philippe stood very still and all color drained from his face. "You did what? His sister?"

"He'll come for her, and we can be rid of him."

"Are you insane? You will bring her here to me."

"But . . ."

"No! You have made an absolute mess of things, de Roig."

De Roig replied coldly. "I thought you wanted to be rid of him. I did what I had to do. Forgive me, Sire, for the execution of my duty."

Philippe thought that he would be more than happy to reward de Roig with an execution. But lucky for the knight, a page entered and interrupted the dispute. "Sire?"

"What, Boy?" the king asked irritated at the current situation.

"There are people at the gate."

"What kind of people?"

"Villagers. They look like refugees."

"Refugees? From what do they seek safety? It's winter—no active campaigning is going on . . . on either side."

Without waiting for an answer, he made his way out to them. They were all crying and shivering. Philippe signaled to let them in. They made their way into the courtyard. One woman saw Philippe standing on the battlements. She called out to him, "He killed my son!" From that a chorus of complaints erupted. He waved his hands to quiet them. He motioned to the one who seemed to be the leader—a tall bearded man with a bandage around his head.

"What happened?"

"A band of soldiers from Leon. Burned everything. Killed all who resisted. And 'resisted' was defined pretty loosely."

"Who has done this?" the king asked trembling—already knowing the answer to the question.

"Don Temple, Sire."

Tristan watched from the shadows. His father spoke with the man who was leading them. The people ate and warmed themselves by the fire. He had a hard time believing Temple capable of this. He always liked the man. But it was an eye for an eye.

A young boy saw him. "You're the prince?" he asked with a mixture of awe and wonder.

He smiled and put a finger over his lips to urge him to keep his presence unknown. "What happened?"

The boy seemed eager to share. He moved closer as if he were sharing a secret. "He came out of nowhere. He swooped down real fast—like a dragon—and burned everything."

"A dragon?"

"Yeah, a dragon. With swordsmen."

A page ran in and approached the king. "Sire? There's more of them."

"What?"

"More refugees."

Philippe looked at the man with whom he had been talking. "I thought you said these were all the survivors from your village."

"We are, Your Highness."

The page interrupted. "No, Sire. These refugees are from a different village."

Tristan and his father were up late dealing with this new situation. They both knew Temple was on the hunt seeking revenge, and he wouldn't stop now until they were all destroyed. Philippe began to rethink his life. What else could he have done for that boy? Although, none of that mattered anymore. He couldn't change the past. The only thing that would make Temple happy now was his own death—his and his son's. He slumped into a chair. He thought of that little girl with the flowers in her hair. He saw her smiling mother—eagerly awaiting the birth of her second child. Philippe wondered if that child was a boy or girl. He couldn't help but think even further back. Poor Catalina Temple. That poor beautiful woman was slaughtered in the dead of night while her parents were burned in their beds. And her poor son. He had lost his entire family more than once. This is why he wanted peace. This war was destroying too many innocent lives. And now, he was paying for his crimes. Their faces kept passing before him—Catalina, Temple, his wife, his little girl. Then the faces of his own people. The refugees who had lost so much. He felt sobs coming on so he covered his face and turned away from Tristan.

"Father?"

"Leave me."

"But Father . . ."

"I said 'Leave me!'"

The warning bell had sounded. Everyone was trying to get out of the village, but it was too late. The horsemen had surrounded them. Claudia had hidden in her uncle's shop. She watched the soldiers roam the streets killing anyone in their way and dragging off others. One of her friends lay dead in the street with his father clutching his lifeless body. Others were fleeing in a vain attempt to escape. Their leader, a knight with dark hair falling across his face, rode his horse slowly through the village observing all that took place. He wasn't actively participating in the violence, but he had given his men free rein to do as they wished. He stopped in front of the shop and dismounted. When the father that had been mourning his son saw him, he rushed him from behind carrying no weapon other than his bare fists. The knight drew his sword and ran him threw before the other man had landed his first punch. Claudia put a hand over her own mouth to keep from crying out. The knight looked down at his now bloodstained sword with disgust. He wiped it off as one of his minions walked up to him and nodded. "Well enough," he replied. "Burn it to the ground. Leave nothing."

"My Lord, we do have a few swords and some armor that needs mending."

"Right. See if you can find the smith. If you haven't killed him already."

Claudia trembled. Her uncle was the blacksmith. After a few minutes, a guard in the Green Knight's livery appeared dragging her uncle. "Here, My Lord."

The knight followed as they escorted him into his shop. They gave him what they wanted repaired while she remained hidden. They gave him orders and threats, but he ignored them and turned his gaze to their master. "Why should I help you?" he asked desperately.

"Do what I require of you, and I'll spare your life," the knight said calmly.

"What does that matter now? You've taken everything. I'd rather die."

His squire drew his already bloodstained sword, but the knight held up an arm to stop him. "Surely there is something you need. Repair my equipment for my men, and I'll reward you well for your services."

"How?"

"You name your price."

The man paused a moment. "_Whatever_ I ask?"

"Within reason, of course."

"Swear it."

"You have my word."

She watched her uncle in disbelief as he did as the Green Knight asked. The man was a liar. Why would he believe him with so many dead already?

Her uncle labored for hours. The Green Knight watched him closely, and as the smith finished, he examined each sword. He tested the strength of every blade. He seemed satisfied with man's work. "Well done. Now, what can I do for you?"

The man looked at the ground. "My niece. I raised her since she was little. I just . . . if she still lives, I ask that you spare her life. And leave her . . . unspoiled."

He thought a moment. "Squire?"

"My Lord?"

"Find the man's niece, and bring her here. We'll see what we can do."

Claudia trembled. If she knew the man would keep his word, she would leave her hiding spot, but if he was toying with him, she'd do better to stay where she was. "Sir Knight?" her uncle asked.

"What?"

"Claudia, come out, Sweetheart. She was hiding in here all along. I saw her, but I wanted your word. Come here. It's okay." Claudia stepped out trembling as she watched the Green Knight who eyed her curiously.

"Claudia, is it?" he asked. A few of his squires snickered behind him. He was toying with them, and she had heard the stories. The rumors were rampant concerning the Green Knight and his penchant for blood and violence. She knew what he was capable of. She stepped closer to her uncle. "Your uncle raised you?"

"My Lord," her uncle began, "you swore."

"I did. Just making conversation," he said idly resting a hip on her uncle's work bench. "My uncle raised me too. That's how this works: I spare your life. You satisfy a little curiosity."

He pulled his niece closer. "I took her in when her mother died."

"What about your father?" he directed toward the girl.

"Her father," her uncle began but was cut off.

"I asked the girl."

She stared at the floor. "I never knew my father. He was a knight of Leon."

He grinned. "Then we have a lot in common."

"I am _nothing_ like you."

"Aren't you? I am a bastard of a wandering knight myself."

"Seems the knights of Leon have a penchant for raping and pillaging," the smith said coldly.

"I never said my father was from Leon. And when Philippe's army killed my mother, my uncle took me in. So like it or not, you are one of us. And you should be grateful. It's because of that I'm letting you live. As for you," he drew his sword and pointed it at the smith. The girl jumped between them. One of his squires pulled her away. The blacksmith stared at him with his head held high ready to meet his fate. The Green Knight swung his arm and struck him across the cheek with his fist. He fell to the earthen floor. The Green Knight turned and looked at his men as he made his way out the door. "Get him up, and get them out of here." When all were safely out of the shop, he set it ablaze. The smith remained on the ground where he had been thrown. The Knight kicked him in the ribs. The girl screamed in protest. "He asked for your life not his," he called back to her. "Get up, you miserable maggot." The smith struggled to his knees. The Green Knight grabbed him by the collar. "As for you, you'll do me one more favor, and I'll let you go with her." The smith hung his head. "Look at me! You wish to protect her, yes?"

"What is it, My Lord?" he asked softly looking up at the man.

"I want you to give your king a message for me. Take a good look around you. Tell him everything you've seen—everything I've done. And tell the young prince to watch his back. Because when I'm done with de Roig, he's next."

Philippe walked hesitantly down the hallway. De Roig had returned with Aracely Temple. He wished to see the girl for himself, but he was afraid of what he would find. He knew she must be frightened, and he wanted to reassure her himself that he would return her safely to her brother. There was a guard at the door—more for her protection than any fear of escape. Philippe gave him a nod, and he opened the door for his king. Philippe took a few steps into the room, and all his fears were confirmed. The poor girl was bruised and bloody. She was curled into a ball crying, and her clothes were torn in places. The girl couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. She was barely more than a child. He could have killed de Roig right then and there.

"I'm sorry, Child," he said softly. The young woman glanced up at him with fear all over her face. She said nothing only waited her fate. Philippe thought of Temple. He too had been brought here captured as a teenager. The two could not have been more different, and it had nothing to do with looks. Temple had been cold and hard. The girl was crying and scared. "I'm so sorry. Sorry for everything that's happened. I didn't mean for any of this. I told de Roig to bring you here. I wish to return you to your brother."

His gentle voice eased her somewhat. She calmed a little and wiped her face rather gingerly considering her black eye. "When?"

"As soon as possible, My Lady," he replied fighting tears of his own. He pitied the poor woman. And if he had been Temple, he knew he would be on the rampage as well. "I will arrange everything personally. Your brother is looking for you. As soon as I find him, I will get you to him."

"Thank you, Sire. . . . . Your Majesty, may I ask a question?"

"Ask anything of me."

"Have you news of my family? They were not well when I left them."

Philippe's heart sank. He did not want to be the bearer of any more bad news for the poor girl. "I hear that your mother is eagerly waiting for your return." He said no more. The girl only nodded. Philippe left and gave instructions that she be well taken care of. He wanted her pampered as much as she wanted—cleaned up, at the very least. He then went to find de Roig.

De Roig was waiting with Soledad and Tristan when Philippe stormed in slamming the door behind him. "His sister? That was completely uncalled for!" he said pointing at his knight.

"I didn't touch her!"

"Can you say the same for your men?" De Roig said nothing. Philippe scoffed. "You may not have given them permission, but you turned a blind eye, didn't you?"

"It's war, Sire. Nobody said it was pretty," he replied coldly.

"I want the girl returned to Temple immediately," Philippe said to Soledad.

"But," de Roig began. He had risked everything to destroy Temple. He was reluctant to just give her back.

"No. Enough blood has been shed. If nothing else, we send her back to Temple to stop this violence."

"When would you have me depart on this . . . errand."

"Not you. You've done enough. Besides, he'd annihilate you and all with you. I wish to negotiate a little peace. Soledad, I know it will be dangerous. But he respects you. Or he used to. Would you consider returning her to her brother?"

"Yes, Sire."

"She's a scared little girl. I trust you'll see that she's protected."

"I will."

"Now, one question remains. How and where do we find Temple?"

The aging knight fought bravely but was no match for Temple. Leondro de Roig yielded to Temple's temper and strong arm. Temple stood over him, and the old man just chuckled. "I must say I'm not surprised. My son told me what he'd done. And where else would you look, right?" Temple said nothing only pushed the tip of his sword closer to the man's throat. Leondro picked his chin up avoiding the blade. "My son is not here, Boy. I suppose I am your hostage just as the girl is his. You'll stay here and wait for him, right? I'll be happy to speak with him and negotiate for you."

"You wish to see your son?" Temple asked coldly. "You can see him in hell," he said and ran the man through. He pulled his sword from the man's body and watched him until his last breath rattled in his chest. He looked around him. His men stood silently awaiting their orders. "What is our status?"

"The castle is overrun. Victory is ours, My Lord," his squire said.

Temple nodded. "You," he said pointing with his sword. "Get him out of here along with the other dead. Dispose of them. We may be here awhile. How many did we lose?"

"Reports are still coming to me, but noone of note, Sir."

"Any survivors?"

"Some women and children along with some old men were found huddled together."

"Keep them locked up. Keep them scared. Well, let a few loose, but keep an eye on them. It'd be nice to have a warm meal. You, find their armory. Replenish our supplies; take anything we can use." As he barked orders someone would run out and execute his errand. "Repair the gates as best you can. I want this place defensible by morning."

"Yes, Sir. I wished to speak with you about a little situation," his squire said privately.

Temple wiped the blood from his face and then his sword. "What situation?"

The squire nodded and a man brought in a young teenager. "He followed us, My Liege."

"Followed?"

"Yes. From Leon."

Temple examined the youth. It was the same lad at the convent who had told him what him what happened—the one who wanted to come with them for revenge. The boy trembled in the presence of a bloody and battle weary Temple. But he stood his ground. "I did just what you said," he protested looking at the squire. "I have some men rebuilding the village, and all the dead have been buried."

"What was your name again?" Temple asked.

"Alfonso."

"When was the last time you ate anything? Anything at all?" The boy looked worse than some of the victims of his raids, and he knew they had left nothing behind for him to take.

"Two days."

"And when was the last sleep you got?"

"I don't remember. . . . I want to fight for you."

"You do, do you? Then, let's see what you've got. Let him go," he said to the man holding him. He then looked at his squire. "Arm him."

"But, Sir, he just said . . . he's in no condition to do battle today."

"War does not wait for those who are ready. Arm him."

Young Alfonso was given a sword, and he fought off Temple's attacks as best he could until his sword flew from his hand. Temple tossed his aside as well and began pummeling him with his fists. Finally, when the boy could no longer hold his head up, Temple backed away. "Take him away. Let him rest. Feed him. When he's strong again, arm him." A few more left to see to their task. Temple's squire offered him a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his chin. At least one of Alfonso's blows had landed true. Temple took it and wiped his bloody lip and spit. He then began nursing a bloody knuckle. He righted an overturned chair and slumped down in it. "Boy's raw. But he knows the basics, and he's got heart. A little polishing up, he'll be fine."

"What do we do now, My Lord?"

"We wait."

Matias curiously watched the scene. De Roig paced fitfully. Philippe sat calmly in a corner receiving news from one of his pages. He tried to learn what the news was, but Philippe's expression was unreadable. Finally the aging king stood slowly and walked over to them. De Roig stopped pacing and waited patiently. "Don Temple has surfaced at the home of your father. Sir Leondro de Roig is dead. And don't look so surprised, Ruiz. You asked for this."

"I'll tear the bastard limb from limb."

"You'll do no such thing. That's just what he wants—for you to do something stupid. You'll stay put. Matias, get the girl ready. Temple is waiting."

Temple wiped the sweat from his brow. "Again." He continued his sparring with young Alfonso. He knocked him down and sent him sliding across the floor. The young man shook off his frustration. Temple walked over and offered him an arm. He helped him up. "Better," he said and slapping him on the shoulder.

"_That_ was better?"

"You're still conscious, aren't you? Again."

"My Lord," they both turned and saw Temple's squire. "You are needed."

The three of them then headed out to the battlements. They looked out across the valley below. "There, Sir," one of his men said pointing. Across the hill, a band of soldiers were heading their way.

"Who are they?"

"I believe they come from Philippe. Our scouts say they carry banners of truce. But they could be part of a larger army. What do we do?"

"Keep an eye on them. Let me know if they move."

The little band camped out in the valley. They didn't move for the remainder of the night. Early in the morning, a lone rider began making their way toward the castle, and Temple was sent for. "I didn't come here to negotiate," he said. "Have the archers ready. When he gets in range, we send a message of our own."

"We await your signal, Sir."

Temple watched the rider carefully. Something about him didn't seem right. "Alfonso, you have sharp eyes. Do you notice something odd about that rider?"

Alfonso, eager to impress Temple, stared closely at the advancing interloper. "He seems too small to be a knight. Even a squire. Maybe a page." He suddenly stood up and became very agitated. "Tell them to stop. Call off the archers. Call them off now."

"What? Why?"

"She's a girl."

Temple bolted from his place on the battlements to the gate below. His squire grabbed him as he was about to run out to her. "Wait! It may be a trap. Wait."

Temple knew he was right. He managed to hold himself back a few more minutes until he could bear it no longer. He threw off his squire and ran out to her. She saw him coming and leapt off the horse. She threw her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed. He wanted to whisper that it was okay—that everything was going to be okay, but he would not lie to his sister. Everything was _not _okay nor would it ever be so again. He only held her tighter. She didn't say anything about what had happened. She didn't have to. He knew what they had done to her, and it only made his anger grow.

"They will pay, Aracely. They will pay for what they've done," he said leading her back to the safety of the walls.

"They told me mother was alive and waiting. They said nothing else. They're dead. Sofia is dead too, isn't she?"

"I told Isabel I would find you," he replied avoiding her question.

"And Sofia?"

He took a deep breath. "They're dead. All of them."

"No, not . . ." a fresh wave of tears hit her. He started barking orders at his men to make ready to attack. "No, no, Carlos, you can't. They sent me to you to bring you a message."

"A message?"

"They wish you to leave this land and return to Leon."

"To hell with them. I will destroy them all."

"No. De Roig isn't with them."

"Who is it?"

"He's a chancellor. His name is Matias I think. He's been very kind to me—more than kind. It's de Roig you want, and he's not there. The king was very angry with him. He wouldn't let de Roig use me to get to you. He sent me back and wants you to leave." He tried to move away, but she pulled him back. "Please, Carlos. They were kind to me. Don't hurt them."

He sighed in frustration. "Ready my horse." He kissed the side of her head. "I'll take care of it. Don't worry." He motioned to another of his guards. "Take her and make her comfortable."

His horse was brought to him and he rode out onto the field alone. He saw the pages scurry in the distance letting those of his enemy know that something strange was happening. He hated standing back. He knew if Matias was really out there, then he had orders. He could ride right in the middle of all of them, and noone would touch him. He could kill them all, and noone would risk hurting him. It only made him hate Philippe more. Finally, Matias saw him and rode out to meet him alone.

"Is there a particular reason you are out here alone, Don Temple?"

"My sister will not let me destroy your little band."

"Philippe is trying to make things right. He wants to stop this bloodshed."

"Does he?"

"Take your sister back to Leon and stop these attacks."

"I will take my sister home. But I will be back. You should take your men and leave before I change my mind."


	9. New Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Don Temple stood by the door and watched as Isabel held her daughter. She had been sitting looking out the window when they had arrived, and Aracely had flung herself at the woman's feet. The two of them now held each other and cried while Temple watched. He felt nothing watching this reunion. He may have accomplished a great feat by saving Isabel's daughter, but he had been too late to save his own. As joyous as the occasion was, it was not enough to outweigh his own grief.

"Carlos?" Isabel said. He looked up so his eyes met hers, but he did not reply. "Carlos, come here," his aunt said motioning him closer. Temple walked over and knelt beside them. His aunt brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "Thank you. Thank you, My Dear Boy."

Temple stared at her face. She was alive, but she wouldn't be much longer. She looked old and weak. She didn't even stand from that chair when they entered. "No," he said softly. "No, thank you. If it weren't for you . . . When I was a boy, no one wanted me. No one but you."

Her eyes saddened. "That's not true. I talked to Sofia after the tournament. I wondered how long it would take her to figure it out. She told me what she saw. I think your father wanted you too."

"He's got a hell of a way of showing it."

She saw the dark look in his eyes, and it reminded her so much of Javier that it hurt. "No, Carlos. No, you can't blame this on him too. He couldn't have wanted this. The situation with your father has always been complicated."

"He could've stopped this a long time ago."

"You won't let him!" Aracely looked up at them through her tear stained cheeks. Carlos had stood and was inching toward the door in retreat. Her mother looked more in pain now than ever. They had apparently forgotten she was there. She had no idea that Carlos knew who his father was. No one had ever told her. Isabel continued, "You say you want him to claim you—that you want him to acknowledge what he did. If you wanted people to know the truth, you could have exposed him a long time ago. The fact is, you don't want anybody to know either because what would that do to _your_ reputation? You are just like your uncle. You're tempted to turn and walk out that door. You won't admit it, but you're running from the truth because you know the truth isn't as simple as you think it should be. This wasn't his fault."

"So it's my fault?"

"No! No, Carlos, you're not listening. It's nobody's fault. It's certainly not yours, but if you blame him, it will only drive you mad."

"Forgive me. But I fail to see how this is not his fault. He is responsible. He and those who are close to him will pay for what they've done. I will get justice for my family. And if that makes me a madman, so be it."

Francisco had been told that Temple had arrived and wanted an audience with the king. The prince waited for them both. Temple was the first to arrive. Francisco saw the strain and exhaustion in his face. He had heard about everything that had happened and the rumors that found their way through his halls that Temple had gone to rescue his sister. The man looked beaten and broken like he had never seen him before. Francisco offered his sincerest apologies and condolences as best he could. Temple seemed not to hear him. He didn't react at all until the king entered, and he bowed in the presence of his king.

"Yes, Sir Temple?"

"I came, Sire, for two reasons. Firstly, to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"Yes. I didn't have your permission to leave the army and find my sister."

The king shrugged. "The campaign was over. You had urgent business to attend to. You sent me word. I understood. Did you succeed?"

He nodded. "She's with my aunt. I left them at the convent. I have no home to send them to, and my aunt is too weak to move anyway."

"Good. I did hear about the destruction you left in your wake. Philippe will be sorry he crossed you. Your apology is accepted although it was unnecessary. What is your other request?"

"I want your permission to go back. I have unfinished business with King Philippe and his knights."

"Go back? Campaigning in winter is a mistake, Temple."

"I'll manage. I'll destroy his kingdom one foot at a time if I have to."

The king nodded. "In the hands of a lesser man, it would be a fool's errand. But, yes, I believe you can. Go, with my blessing. Do what you feel you need to. Let no man stop you. You are my champion, and you answer to me and me alone."

"Thank you, Sire."

"Wait here. I have something I want to give you."

The king hurried from the room on a mission and Francisco stared at his friend confused. "What are you doing?"

"What?"

"What about the peace?"

"Peace?" Temple asked confused and obviously offended. "Where have you been?"

"Together we may convince my father once again that peace is our only alternative. It's not too late."

"'Too late?' My family is _dead_. I want justice."

"Justice or vengeance?"

"Sometimes they're the same."

Francisco scoffed. "Even if you are right, you went and saved your sister, and if the rumors are true, you got plenty of justice. You killed the only family de Roig had. You burned several villages. You've got justice."

"And Philippe? How many times does he get to destroy my family?"

"Him again? What happened to your grandparents was unfortunate. Granted, I see why you blame Philippe. If you asked nicely to camp on the lands of one of Philippe's nobles and he told you no, you would have camped anyway. And anything that happened as a result of that would be on your shoulders, but you know as well as I do that your mother wasn't raped so you can't blame Philippe or your father alone for your existence."

"Don't bring my mother into this," he said coldly.

"No, you're the one who brought your family into this. As for your father, I can't speak for the man. I don't know him. But your mother must have respected him. At the very least, she enjoyed his company. You wouldn't be here if she didn't."

Temple stepped angrily toward him. "Stop. _Now_."

Francisco saw the rage in his friends eyes. He stood taller meeting the challenge. "No. I won't stop until you realize that _you are_ _wrong_. I'm sure King Philippe desires peace, and I can't let you ruin what little chance we have left. I know you hate the man and choose to blame him for everything, but even you can't deny that he saved you. You owe Philippe your very life."

The remark was enough to blow what fuse Temple had left. His fist flew of its own volition and struck the prince. Philippe had saved him as a boy, and everyone like to remind him of it. He had rescued him; so what? He brought him out of the snow only to throw him back in it and hope that Javier Temple would take pity on him.

Francisco swore grabbing his jaw. Just as his father returned, he spat blood on the stone floor. The king looked over at Temple whose face was expressionless, but his fist remained clenched at his side. His son looked at Temple shocked, and he felt he knew what had happened. He chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Temple. He probably deserved it."

"I owe King Philippe_ nothing_."

"Is that what he said? Then, by all means, punch him again," the king said laughing. "Here, I have brought you something—a proper instrument of the justice you seek. Do you recognize it?"

Temple finally looked away from Francisco to the king. He offered him a sword. He drew it a few inches from the scabbard. "This is my uncle's sword. I haven't seen this . . . since . . ."

"Before he died right?"

"Right."

"I was with the army that summer. They came and told me that he had been wounded and that he lay on the field dying so I went to him. He had always been a loyal vassal of mine as well as a friend, and I knew that Leon was about to suffer a great loss. He spoke of you. As he did, he reached for the hilt of his sword. I don't think he knew that it had been broken in the fight that killed him. He wanted you to have it. He told me to tell you that it was yours now. I brought the pieces back and had it reforged for you. During all this talk of peace, I forgot about it. But this blade has a real purpose now. I trust you will act in the best interests of your kingdom. Do with it as you see fit."

"I will," Temple said absently drawing it and holding it up to the light. It had been over ten years, but he could still hear his uncle's voice: "This is yours when I say it is." As he remembered Javier Temple, he remembered how he had been the one who had taught him to fight. He had taught him the importance of family and of his responsibilities as the head of his house. Now, he had a carte blanche from the King of Leon and he had his uncle's sword, and he would use them both to make things right.

Returning Aracely had bought Philippe some time. Temple stayed away almost a month before he returned with his men—rested and ready for more blood. Tristan sat with his father and the chancellor wondering how long the revenge of Don Temple would last. Refugees continued to pour in from the border. Soon the whole region would be completely devastated. Philippe had sent troops to stem the tide. It was working to some extent. Temple's men were fast and small enough to avoid the army, but that army's presence was enough to make him lie low.

With the arrival of spring, Temple's forces combined with Leon's regular army and became a destructive force. For the next few years, Temple even more ruthless than his predecessor Javier. The infamous and violent Green Knight was beyond pity. Don Temple became an object of complete hatred and disgust in Philippe's kingdom, more hated, in fact, than even the King of Leon himself. Also, the observation of Temple as a dragon seemed to fit. The rumor went through the whole realm as he became a symbol of terror. When the rumor reached Temple, he took advantage of it. He changed his heraldry. It remained green, but with a gold dragon, and his banners inspired fear wherever he went.

"I heard about your son, Soledad. I apologize," Philippe said to end the silence.

"It's war, Sire. We all know what might happen when we go out there," Soledad replied, and then silence reigned once again. "I worry about the refugees," he said after a moment.

"What do you mean?" the king asked.

"What happens when they stop coming?"

"Explain yourself."

"With every village destroyed, fewer and fewer refugees come back. Fewer and fewer are surviving his wrath. His violence grows with every engagement. If they stop coming, he's stopped leaving _any_ survivors."

"Do you think it will come to that?" Tristan asked.

"It's possible," Philippe said.

Soledad sighed. "I told you we should have kept him when he was a boy. I told you Leon and his uncle would turn him into a monster."

"No," Philippe replied. "Leon didn't turn him into a monster. We did. . . . I did."

Tristan was about to protest, but Soledad caught his eye. He shook his head signaling him to leave his father be. They were all silent. During the reign of Philippe's father, battle between the two kingdoms had waged hot. But with resources depleted, the war had calmed down in recent years. It still went on, but with much less vehemence. Until now. Neither kingdom could continue at this pace for long. Temple was intent on destroying them all. What would happen when he was forced to slow down? With such desperation, that man would be unpredictable.

"Ah, there he is! My own favorite knight!" the King of Leon said as he greeted Temple with a smile. Temple only stared coldly in reply. He had grown quite hard over the past couple of years. The king was pleased at what he saw as a growth in character in his favorite knight. The prince was not. Although once friends, the two were still at odds with one another. The prince just glared at his former ally for peace. "I heard you haven't rebuilt Asturius."

"I have been busy, My King."

He laughed. "Yes, that's right. That's right. Sit down; sit down. How is your cousin?"

"Well. Still at the convent. I figure she should be safe there especially now that my aunt has passed away as well."

"True. True. How are your numbers?"

"We've lost a fair few, but our numbers grow every day."

"And you train these men?"

"Yes."

"Have you knighted any of these village boys?"

"No. There is no place among us for those looking for glory and recognition. Those who show talent end up as fellow trainers—acting as sort of squires. A few noble born of those who were my squires before have been knighted, and they lead their own armies under Don Reyes."

"Good. Good. You have done well. Your swordsmen are some of the most elite in all my armies. . . . And what of women?" the king added somewhat secretly.

Temple just stared. "I believe they still inhabit this fair earth of ours, Sire."

He laughed. "Yes, you're right. They do. But you've had time to mourn. Let's get you married again. You need an heir. And all that talent would just be a waste if it ended with you."

"I'm afraid, Sire, that I don't have much to offer a wife right now. I have no home. And no time."

"Nonsense. A decent dowry will be enough to rebuild the place. You know, I have a few daughters myself. . . ."

"No," the prince said. "I see your mind. You'll have him marry my sister, have a son, then kill me off—your weak, obstinate son—and put your grandson on the throne."

The king chuckled. "Pay no attention to him, Temple. He's just jealous."

"All the same, Your Majesty, I'd rather not cross my future king."

"Have it your way. I'm sure we can find some nobleman willing to give you his daughter."

Temple stared at the floor. "I gave all I had to my first wife and my children. I have nothing left."

"You're just talking nonsense. You go back out and lead the armies of Leon, and since he does not want you as a brother-in-law, Francisco and I will be on a mission to find you a bride."

"Your servant, My Liege," Temple said rising. He bowed and returned to his men.

"So I'm arranging marriages now?" the prince said in frustration. "I should've joined the church."

"You know you'll do as I ask. Be sure she's pretty. And young. With a personality that's obliging—not abrasive. I want to give my loyal vassal something he'll enjoy. She should be from a good family too—one where her father or brothers are skilled knights and come from a long line of good knights."

"So a beautiful, agreeable woman from good stock. Are you breeding knights now? Or just little Don Carlos Temples?"

His father scoffed. "Just do it." He turned to go.

Francisco sighed. "What if I want to marry the hot little wench!" he called out after him.

Francisco read off names of women that he thought would make a suitable bride for Temple. His father objected to each one for some reason or another. This one's family wasn't good enough; this one was too plain; this one's breasts were too small. Francisco finally ripped up his notes and tossed them aside. "I don't know what you want from me."

The king thought for a moment. "You mentioned Rodriguez's daughter," he said pacing.

"Yes. You made a disparaging comment about her nose. Or maybe it was her ears. I don't remember."

"Doesn't she have a sister?" his father asked ignoring his sarcastic tone.

"Several. Of his eight children, I believe five are girls."

"Any married?"

"One."

"And only one is on your list?"

"The others are younger, and Rodriguez isn't the wealthiest noble. I mean, with five daughters to provide dowries for . . ."

"Temple married his first wife for money. Dowry isn't my primary concern at the moment—so long as it's respectable. Which one of his daughters is it that I always compliment him on?"

"Gabriela."

"Ah, yes. The little angel. Why not her?"

"She's too young for him."

"Is not. How old is she?"

"16 or 17. Not any more than that."

"Your mother was younger than that when I married her, and I was in my thirties. Or maybe closer to forty."

"My point exactly."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Sofia was that age when she married him."

"She was a little older, and _he_ was younger. He was less troubled then."

"Less famous you mean. He's always been out to destroy Philippe. Ever since he was a boy. Sofia softened him too much—losing her was good for him. He's back where he belongs."

"So wait, let me be sure I understand. You think his first marriage made him too soft so you _want_ him to marry again?"

"He's matured. He won't go back."

"That's a shame."

His father shot him an evil glance. "How can you _still _want peace? Especially now. We want him to have heirs. He needs one at least. Let's get him a wife. Back to the Rodriguez girl. I like her."

"So be it, but you're asking for a shipwreck."

"My son—ever the pessimist. It's why God has kept me alive so long. You would have rolled over and let Philippe have this kingdom long ago. That's why I'm glad Temple is on _my _side. What will you do when I die, and Philippe wants peace, and he betrays you again? One day you'll learn. And I'm glad Temple will be here to teach you. I suppose we should find you a wife as well. It's a shame Temple didn't have a sister."

"He has a sister."

He shook his head. "Cousin."

"Well, maybe he would have if a certain someone didn't have his mother killed."

The king glared at his son. "Francisco, you will send word to Rodriguez that we will be coming for a visit. Tell him we have an offer for him."

Manuel Rodriguez was flattered by the arrival of his king and his offer. He was somewhat ashamed at his modest proposal for a dowry, but the king himself didn't seem to mind. He delivered the news to his daughter. He had some difficulty reading her reaction as she was overcome with shock. She did seem pleased. He hoped she was. The whole family was immensely flattered by the news. Don Temple was the greatest noble in the realm. He was humbled that the king would even consider his family for this much less accept his daughter as a bride for the Lord of Asturius. His other daughters were a little jealous, but they understood the honor that they would all gain from this. He sent word to his sons who were out fighting. They would never believe it. He was ready to celebrate himself. He went in to his room to find his wife staring out the window. Her expression worried him. "You look sad. Why? Today is a great day for our family."

She smiled sadly. "I know."

He sat next to her. "We are joining our house to that of the greatest of the realm outside the royal family."

"I know, but at what cost?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's your favorite. She's used to being showered with love and affection. He won't do that. I spoke with the prince. Since his wife died, he's cold and hard. And we're giving our daughter to him. I remember him as a boy. I do. But I've heard the rumors too. I know that in Leon, he's a hero, but he's heartless. He burns village after village killing the innocent with the guilty. He's not interested in marriage. Prince Francisco said _the king_ wants him to marry. How will he treat this young wife that he doesn't want?"

He put his arm around his concerned wife. "Those stories are exaggerated. I'm sure all will be well."

"I've warned her."

"And?"

"What do you think? She's marrying a handsome hero. Not to mention a man she pities. She remembers when he was here all those years ago. She knows his story. . . . I think she's in for a disappointment."

"Maybe not."

Francisco sent for Aracely. She should be at her brother's wedding. He wasn't sure when the last time Temple saw his poor sister was. The girl had been at the convent several years, and the peace and quiet had done her good. She could have stayed as long she wanted. The Temple family had been very generous to the convent, but Aracely was restless and eager to move on with her life. Blinded by his rage, Don Temple saw nothing beyond his hatred of Philippe. Francisco worried that Temple's wounds would never heal, and his life would be consumed by his quest for vengeance. For his family's sake, Francisco hoped that his father was wrong, and Temple would benefit from his marriage.

They had expected Temple to arrive the day before, but he had not, nor had they received any word. Francisco found Manuel and his wife. "I'd like to apologize on behalf of Don Temple. Since that unfortunate incident with his family, he sort of lives by his own timetable."

"Perhaps he not pleased with your choice of wife?"

"Oh no. I'm sure that has nothing to do with his delay. I expect him to arrive very soon. His responsibilities with the army take up so much of his time."

"We understand, My Liege."

Alfonso approached his master with great care and consideration. Temple was staring fixedly at three grave markers. He hadn't moved an inch for hours. He could have been a statue stationed here to watch over and protect them. "Alfonso," he said addressing his squire.

The young man didn't realize that Temple had noticed him, but he tried not to act surprised. He bowed slightly. "Yes, Sire?"

"How long has it been?"

He wasn't sure what his master meant. How long had they been in Asturius? Or how long had he been sitting there? "You've been sitting there all day. The sun is almost gone. Prince Francisco expected us two days ago."

"No. No, how long has it been?" he asked nodding at the stones.

"Oh. About three years, Sir."

Temple hadn't realized it had been that long. It seemed like only yesterday that they had arrived for the tournament that was to give him peace. He could still picture her sleeping with a smile on her face tucked safely against him. He had failed her. She and their children had died three years ago, and their murderer still lived. But it wasn't over yet. He still had a lot of fight in him. He planted a kiss on the cold stone that marked his wife's grave, stood, and dusted himself off. He began walking toward his camp, and Alfonso obediently followed. "Have everything packed tonight. We leave at first light."

"Yes, Sir," Alfonso said confident that it could be arranged. His men were used to their master's moods and were always ready to move at a moment's notice. To his shock, though, Temple abruptly turned. "What is it, My Lord?"

"It is the right thing to do?"

"Sir?"

"Getting married again. I'm doing the right thing." Alfonso watched Temple carefully. He almost sounding like he was asking a question.

"My Liege, I did not know your wife all that well, but I believe this is what My Lady Sofia would have wanted."

He sighed and looked toward the heavens. "I think so too."

Aracely hesitantly approached the prince. He noticed her and smiled. "What is it, My Lady?"

"Any news of my brother, Sire?"

"I just received word. He should be arriving any minute."

"What took him so long?"

"He made a stop at Asturius."

"Is he finally rebuilding it?" she asked with a ray of hope in her voice.

"No. Not that I know of."

She sighed. She had hoped that the years would have eased his pain, and he would have found some healing. "I know it hurts him, but I thought . . . since he was getting married again . . ."

"So did I. There he is now."

The gates opened, and a band of warriors dressed in green rode into the courtyard. She ran among them and found her brother. "Carlos!" she called smiling. He dismounted, and she hugged him. "Come. We have so much to catch up on." She led him down the halls and into a little sitting area. "Why are you so quiet?"

He shrugged and took a seat. "You look older," he said simply.

She laughed. "So do you." He said nothing. She made another attempt to start a conversation with her brother. "So what made you decide to remarry?"

"The king asked me to."

"And that was enough?"

"It usually is."

"I met her. She seems sweet. But why did you choose her over her sisters?"

"The king and Francisco chose her. You'd have to ask them."

"You don't know why?" Aracely studied him. He stared at a spot on the floor. His eyes were cold and expressionless. He had allowed his hair to grow longer, and it fell in waves about face. It was an attractive look, but his smile was gone. His voice was flat, and his expression remained blank. "Do you know anything about her at all?"

"Manuel Rodriguez's daughter, isn't it?" he replied without emotion.

"Do you even know her name?"

"Something Rodriguez, I imagine."

Aracely continued watching her brother closely. Her joy at seeing him faded quickly. "Carlos, you're not ready for this. You know nothing about her—not even her name. Did you know that she's younger than I am?"

"I didn't know Sofia either. And she was your age when we got married," he replied defensively.

"But . . . It's not that you don't know anything about her. It's . . . you don't care, do you? Why did you go back to Asturius? Why, Carlos?" He didn't answer. "Why haven't you rebuilt it? You need time. I respect that, but, Carlos, _I'm ready to go home_. You're stalling. You don't really want to get married again. . . . You're still grieving."

"I'm fine. The king is right. It's time I moved forward."

She shrugged and tried to talk about something else. "How long will you stay?"

"What?" he asked finally looking at her.

The look of shock on his face further annoyed her. She rolled her eyes. "You can't just marry the woman and leave. You stayed with Sofia all winter. Remember? And she wasn't even sure what to think of you at first. This woman already adores you. You are a hero of Leon, and she is honored to be your wife. She's sweet. And young. You have to be good to her."

"I can't stay all winter. I have things to do."

"Like what? Burning more villages? Killing more innocent people? You may be a hero, but even in a convent, I hear the rumors. I hate to think what Mother would say."

Temple stood up abruptly. "She's dead. And they must pay for what they've done. They _will_ pay."

He turned to go, but she called out to him. "Carlos?"

"What?" he replied coldly.

"It won't bring them back. And none of them—not even Father—would want to see you like this. And if you're not good to her, you are no better than they are."

"What would you have me do? Lay down my sword and my lance and leave Philippe and his son to reign in peace? To allow him and his son to prosper?"

"You have to let it go. If Philippe is at fault in this, then God will not allow him to go unpunished." He scoffed and shook his head. She continued to try to reason with him. "Carlos, no one denies that Philippe has wronged you—even Philippe himself would agree. But you are taking this too far. It has long ceased to be justice. You are nothing but a madman wreaking havoc on the helpless. Take some time. Marry, if you must. But take her home to Asturius. Rebuild. Start over. It's not too late. And some time away from the clanging of steel and the splintering of lances will be good for you. You need peace. And quiet."

"I can't. I won't. I've already had to start over. I can't do it again. I have a duty to Leon and my family, and I will not neglect it."

He turned to go. She called out to him, but he ignored her pleas. Temple left his sister and walked heavily down the hall. He looked up to see Francisco waiting for him. He ran a hand through his longish hair and sighed preparing himself for another battle. But at the moment, Francisco's errand was one of business. He fell into step with his father's knight and expected him to follow his lead. "I have made excuses for you long enough. Your delay has concerned your future father-in-law. You keep alienating everyone and no one will stand for you. You need to smooth things over with everyone." He stopped outside a door. "Wait here," Francisco said coldly and left.

Temple sighed and looked over his appearance. Someone behind him cleared their throat. He turned and saw a woman before him. Recognizing her, he forced a smile. "Lady Rodriguez. It is a pleasure to see you again," he said bowing slightly.

She smiled softly and approached him. "You remember?"

"Of course. How could I forget the lady who restored me to health? And you haven't changed at all," he said kissing her hand.

"You flatter me, Sir Knight. You've changed—changed a great deal. You were barely more than a boy then. But that was ten years ago."

"Has it been that long?"

"Yes, My Lord. Now, you are a grown man and a hero. You seem taller, stronger. Your hair is longer too. . . . You will take care of her, won't you?"

"Of course. Consider it a return on the kindness you showed me long ago."

They were silent only a moment before Francisco returned with his father the king and Don Rodriguez. "I thought you were rebelling against your king's plans for you, My Lord," Don Rodriguez said with a slight grin.

Temple smiled. "Not today. Forgive my delay. I have many obligations."

"Of course. We understand."

"He is our hero. He sends Philippe's army running for the hills if they but see his banners on the horizon. He pushed our Green Knight too far. His rule will break under the wrath of this dragon," the king said with a laugh clapping his knight on the back.

"Yes. We are very honored to join our family with yours, Sir."

"As am I, Don Rodriguez."

Tristan charged his horse forward. He lowered his lance at his opponent's shield. The force of his blow knocked other rider to the ground. With weapon in hand, he charged toward the man again, slinging the metal ball over his head and at his opponent. The other man blocked it with his shield.

"Your advantage is forfeit, My Prince!" the knight overseeing the prince's training called.

"Forfeit?" he yelled frustrated.

"Yes. Finish the combat on foot." Tristan angrily tossed his weapon aside, but he dismounted. His squire handed him a sword, and he continued.

Philippe and Matias watched from a distance. "He's good, yes?" Philippe asked.

"Yes. Like his father."

"Yes. I unhorsed a few knights in my day," Philippe said with a grin.

"We may be looking at the next champion of your realm."

"Really?" Matias nodded. Philippe thought for a moment. "Can he best Temple?"

Matias raised an eyebrow. He stared at his liege for a moment. He was serious. "No. No, he can't. I watched him defeat my son at the tournament, remember? No one can best Temple. The man can't be touched. And he has something that Tristan does not."

"What's that?"

"Experience. He's been fighting on a battlefield at least since he was eighteen. Tristan may have been raised in the garrison around knights, but he's never seen any real blood spilt."

"Are you saying he's a coward?"

"No. I'm saying he's never fought against an opponent who was really trying to kill him. He's never fought to survive. It's a different kind of experience."

"He's the prince of the realm. He's all I have. If anything happened to him . . ." He stopped at the expression on his advisor's face. "You know what I mean. And I know he should be out there, but I just can't do that right now, not with Temple on the loose."

"You think he'd go out of his way to harm Tristan? He never has before."

"One of the refugees sent him a warning. Besides, Matias, I took his child from him. Who else would be his prime target?"

Temple opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. His young wife lay across his chest, clinging to him. He had known her less than a day, been married to her for even less, but he already determined in his heart and soul that Philippe would not touch her. He had failed to protect his first wife, but not this one. He would not be fooled by Philippe's empty promises of peace so he could harm this poor woman too. This woman would be safe.

She wouldn't have been his first choice for a bride. Not that she wasn't beautiful, but she was young. And Aracely was right. She did adore him. He could see that. He wished he could be whatever she thought he was, but he had a rougher task at hand. He kissed her head, laid her down, and tucked her in. He rose and dressed. He walked down the hall out to the battlements and watched the rising sun. He was restless. He knew he was obeying his king by being here, but he hated sitting still. He should be out in the field where he was useful—not here enjoying the comforts of a married man. Aracely would never forgive him if left this soon, and if he left before the woman conceived, the king would only make him return.

"Wondering how long my father is going to keep you here?" Temple turned to see the prince. Francisco stood watching him with his arms folded across his chest. Without answering he turned back to the wall. "Where is your wife?"

"Asleep."

"She okay?"

"What exactly are you implying, My Prince? That I forced myself on that innocent little thing you sent to my bed?" Francisco's face turned red with anger. "What's the matter with _you_? . . . She's fine. She was a little hesitant at first, but before I was done, she was moaning like a whore." Francisco felt his blood boil the way he talked about her, and his face began turning red. After all, he would have never dreamed of talking about Sofia that way. Temple noticed his reaction and smirked. "I didn't make her do anything she didn't want to."

Francisco stepped toward him. "You son of a—"

"Hello! Francisco and my favorite knight!" They both turned to see the king approaching. Francisco took a few steps back away from his father's hero of the hour, but he continued to glare at Temple. "How was your night, Temple?" the king asked secretly. "I'll bet it was better than Francisco's here," he said chuckling.

"It was fine, Sire."

"Good, good. Francisco here wasn't much help in finding a bride for you. He couldn't seem to find a suitable girl with breasts the right size. I think he's holding out on us—keeping one in hiding for himself."

Temple grinned. "The one he did pick was fine, My Liege."

"Everything satisfactory?"

"Her breasts were perfectly fine. They were each . . . more than a mouthful."

The king laughed heartily. "More than a mouthful?" He slapped Temple's arm. "See why I like him?"

Francisco wasn't laughing. "Yes, I especially appreciate the irony. Your favorite knight—the same man who is on a rampage, bent on destroying Philippe because he blames him for killing his family—when it was you who ordered their execution." The king's face hardened. "It was _you_ who was responsible for his grandparents' death. It was _your _troops who killed his mother. I wonder . . . what would have happened if Philippe hadn't happened along and saved young Temple's life?"

"My grandfather was a traitor," Temple said coldly—not moved by Francisco's speech.

The king was enraged. "Yes. He betrayed me. I gave him warning after warning. I never ordered the death of the boy or his mother."

"Well, _my_ mother had died by that time. And Temple's was a pretty little thing too. You were in need of a new woman. I doubt you would have married her. She had a bastard after all. But you're not above settling for a mistress."

"You shut your mouth!" the king yelled angrily. "If you were not my son—my only son, I'd have you punished severely for this insolence." He swallowed hard. "I apologize Temple. You know he lies."

"I know. He and Philippe make a good pair. Manipulating who they want trying to get 'peace.' Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I need to get back to my wife."

Temple hurried down the hall away from them, but Francisco caught up. "Temple!" he called.

He turned with a look of clear frustration on his face. "What do you want now? To watch? Or did your father send you down here to check the blood on the sheets?"

Francisco rolled his eyes, but he didn't reply. He knew Temple was baiting him. "I want to talk to you about your sister," he replied changing the topic of conversation.

"Aracely? What about her?"

"Staying at that convent has been good for her. But she's getting restless. You know this."

"What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Temple, you're all she's got left. Who else is to look after her?" Temple sighed heavily. "Look, I have an idea that may suit her. And take this 'burden of responsibility' from you."

"What did you have in mind?"

"What if she married?"

Temple eyed him with a dark curiosity. "You're not touching my sister."

"No! Not me."

"What? She's been spoiled, and therefore, not good enough for Your Royal Highness?"

"Would you calm down? It's not that. I can't give her what she needs. She wants out of the convent, but the life of the princess—and eventually the Queen of Leon—may be too much excitement for her right now. I have a cousin—son of Don Reyes."

"Yes, I know him well. I thought he was married?"

"He was. His wife died. He has three young children. He needs help with them, and he needs a companion. Your sister needs to feel useful and needs protection. They're fairly equal in status and rank. Their temperaments will complement each other. I think the match would be good for them."

"Sounds like a reasonable plan. Go ahead and arrange it," he replied moving toward the bedroom door.

Francisco grabbed his arm. "_You_ are her guardian. _You_ should talk to Reyes. For that matter, you should talk to _Aracely_ and see if she would even consider this."

Temple threw off the prince and glanced at the door. "_I_ am busy, My Prince, or have you forgotten my current task given to me by your father?" Francisco did not reply, and Temple left him where he stood. He didn't slam the door behind him, but he did shut it louder than he should have. His wife stirred and sat up. "Good morning," he said simply, hoping his irritation at Francisco didn't bleed through.

"Where were you?"

"I went for a walk," he said running his hand through her hair. He could tell she absolutely melted when he touched her, and he decided that by God, if he was to be stuck here for the next several months, he might as well enjoy himself.

Tristan wondered why nothing else was said about his marriage, but he figured it had something to do with the fact that now was not the time for a wedding. It didn't really matter to him. He was ready to go to the field with the army anyway. He wanted to inspire the troops—help them rally when they saw those green banners bearing the dragon. His father was against it, but it was time he did his duty for the army. He knew his father wanted him protected from Temple, but he was growing impatient with his father and his concerns. He and the king had gone out for a hunt, and he had been trying to discuss it with him, but the stubborn old man wouldn't listen. The dogs began to bark. "Sire?" they heard from a distance.

"We'll continue this discussion later," Philippe said sternly.

"Fine," Tristan said and pouted leaning on a tree.

"Sire?" they heard again.

"Over here!" Philippe called.

Soledad appeared from through the trees. "Hello," he said cautiously sensing the tension. "How's the game?"

"Nothing. Tristan here can't keep quiet."

"An interesting rumor just came in from Leon."

"What is it?"

"Don Temple remarried," he said.

"Really?" the king asked tossing a treat to one of his dogs. "Who did he marry?"

"A daughter of Manuel Rodriguez. One of his youngest."

"Huh. Imagine that. Good for him. Don't tell de Roig though. I don't want another fiasco. The last thing we need is to give him another reason to kill us all."

"You can tell whomever you want. They'll need an act of God to find the woman."

"What do you mean?"

"She's not at Asturius. He never rebuilt it. She could be at the king's. She could be at Don Reyes's. She could even be with her parents or his sister. He's certainly not announcing from the mountaintops where she is."

"Can you blame him?"

"I guess not."

"Come along, Tristan. Let's go back inside." Philippe began to walk back to the house with Tristan and his hunting dogs following him. He addressed Soledad. "Has he any children?"

"I haven't heard. I just heard he was married."

"You think he'll be interested in peace again?"

"I doubt it. Rumor is the king wanted him to have an heir and that's the only reason he remarried. I think peace is still the farthest thing from his mind."

"In that case, I pity the poor woman. I suppose we'll never have peace so long as he's around."

"So we need more than the king to die?"

"I just don't know what we need anymore."

"I know what I need," Tristan called.

"Later, Tristan," Philippe called.

"Tell him I need to be with the army, Soledad." Out of respect for Philippe, Matias didn't respond to Tristan's request.

"You're too young, Tristan. And it's too dangerous," his father replied. They entered the grounds of the castle. "Go and find something useful to do instead of running your mouth." Tristan stalked off.

Matias waited until he was out of earshot before he spoke. "Forgive me, Sire, but Tristan just turned twenty-one. When you were his age, remember what you were doing? I seem to remember a winter camp in Leon on the lands of a certain Sir Temple."

"Which is why he's better off here. Besides, I was older than that."

"Not by much. And that wasn't your first engagement in Leon. . . . You can't keep him here forever. You know this."

He sighed. "I know. I was hoping to have peace by now, and he wouldn't have to go."

"You have to let him. He has to take his place as the prince of the realm."

"He's already changed. This war has changed him, and he's not even on the field. He's dark and moody."

"He's a restless young man who knows his place, and he can't understand why he's not there."

Philippe sighed. "Can you keep him off the front line?"

"I'll get word to my son and some of the other knights I know. They'll keep an eye on him."

"Can you keep him from Temple?"

"I can't promise you that. You know I can't. If you're serious about this, you might want to talk to him."

"About what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You need to tell him what happened all those years ago."

"And how would that change anything?"

"He should be prepared for whatever he might encounter. After all, Temple knows the truth. He might also need a warning."

"A warning?"

"An object lesson in staying away from pretty young girls."

Philippe shook his head sadly. "True. That's all we need—Tristan to produce the next generation's Don Temple."

"So you'll tell him?"

Philippe thought for a moment. "No. He knows enough about where Temple came from to serve as a warning." Matias was about to speak, but Philippe cut him off. "He's angry enough at me already. You tell him I said he can go. Just keep him safe for me."

"He's going to find out, Sire."

"Not today."


	10. New Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The unforgiving rain continued to pour. The roads were muddy to the point of endangering anyone who used them. The rest of the terrain was threatening to flood. At least the lightening gave Temple just enough light to find his way back home through the hazardous conditions. Upon arriving at his destination, he blew his horn. "Open the gate!" he heard from the other side of the castle wall. He heard the chains creak as the portcullis began to rise. He rode beneath it and into the grounds.

"Where are your men?" he was asked by a guard running toward him to get his horse.

"Camped outside the village," he said over the sound of the storm. "Tell your master that they'll be fine through the night." He dismounted and landed in a puddle.

"He'll have warm fires and beds ready for them tomorrow."

"Good. They'll need it," he replied and hurried to shelter. He removed the hood of his cloak and shook out his wavy, dark hair. It was soaked. The rain hadn't let up the past several miles. He was anxious to get to a fire and a warm bed. He walked through the halls, and those who saw him avoided his gaze. He knew his reputation preceded him, and he didn't much care. He went into his room. He slipped out of his boots and threw his soaked cloak on the floor. Through the gentle glow of the fire, he could see the outline of his wife's form in bed. He stepped toward it, leaving wet footprints on the floor behind him. She was asleep. Their son was asleep next to her. He had heard about the arrival of the infant, but he hadn't seen him yet. He watched him sleep for a moment.

"My Lord?" his wife asked drowsily.

"Yes?" he said softly.

"We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

"I didn't want to spend the night in the rain."

She sat up. "Did you see him?"

"Yes. Don't get up," he replied gently. "It was not my intention to wake you. I'll go sleep in the other room."

"You don't want to hold him?"

"No, it's okay."

Her face fell. "You're not pleased."

"No, no, it's not that." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "But I'm drenched. And I'm exhausted. You stay in here with him, and I'll see you both in the morning."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Good," he replied as she lay back down and he replaced the covers over her. "What did you name him?"

"I was waiting for you to come home. What do you think we should call him?"

"Whatever you want." She didn't answer. "Goodnight."

Temple rose the next morning to find his wife sitting in the room with him. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes," he said somewhat disoriented.

"You slept a long time. Are you finally dry?" He nodded rubbing his head. He wondered how long she had been there. "May I go get your son?"

He nodded. "If you want." She left, and he stretched. He couldn't tell her that he was really not in the mood to gush over a baby—even his baby. It was rest he needed—a brief period to recover. He could still hear thunder. The rain had not stopped. He got out of bed and washed his face. He went and collapsed on the couch by the fire. He didn't mind so much that the king wanted him to remarry. And the girl was nice enough. She just wanted to talk _all the time_. She asked about his childhood, his scars, what he wanted for his future—their future.

He reminded himself that Sofia had been like that too. She had asked about his scars. And he had given her an epic for every one of them. She just watched him with a mixture of adoration and respect—sometimes horror and pity depending on the source of the scar. Then she would console him. He knew he could have all that back if he wanted it, but no one understood that he didn't. And she didn't understand that he didn't want to talk. She wasn't his friend. She wasn't his companion. She wasn't his priest. She was his wife. His second wife. She was the mother of his children. And that's all she was, and he intended to keep her that way.

She walked in and handed him the baby. The boy looked up at him. His eyes were dark and inquisitive, and he had wisps of brown hair on his little head. He tried to put his little fist in his mouth. Temple struggled for something to say. "He's a good-looking boy."

"Yes. Just like you."

"Thank you," he said, handing him back to his mother. He kissed her forehead. "He's perfect," he said, but she wasn't sure he meant it. "I'm going to go bathe—wash off some of the filth from the battlefield."

"Manuel," she called after him.

"What?"

"I want to call him Manuel. After my father."

"Sounds perfect," he said walking away. Since their marriage, he may not have been warm or friendly, but he had been gentle and kind. She hoped that in time their relationship would improve. She didn't understand why he kept them both at arm's length, but he was a good man so she just bore with it as best she could. She touched her son's cheek. At least she had him.

Temple sat in the hot tub soaking his weary muscles. There was a knock on the door. What did a man have to do to get a moment alone? "What is it?"

Francisco entered and glared at his father's favorite knight. Temple raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for not rising and bowing, My Prince," he said coldly.

"Yes, please, by all means, remain where you are. Your steward has the latest documents from Asturius for you to go over. Have you seen your son?" he asked taking a seat.

"I did."

"Help me understand. You've rebuilt the villages. You're getting a steady income, and you were given a decent dowry. Why haven't you rebuilt your home?"

"I will when I have the time."

"I think you're avoiding it. You don't want to go back there because it's where you lived with Sofia and your daughter." Temple's stare darkened. "I remember the way you were with them. And this new family? You're hardly ever here, and when you are, you avoid them like they have the black death."

"You want me out? Kick me out. Your father promised to protect my family, but I can move them to your uncle's. Don Reyes would be more than happy to take us in."

"You should go back to _Asturius_. It's your lands—your home."

"You'd have me rebuild it, and for what? So I can send her and my son to die there as well?"

"Is _that_ why you keep them here? The brave, proud, _champion_ Don Temple is scared?" Temple rolled his eyes and looked away. Francisco realized he had hit a nerve. Temple still felt a great deal of guilt. His voice softened. "You think you'll lose them again, don't you? You don't want to get close to them because you think they'll only be taken from you. You think Philippe will find a way to destroy them too. You're afraid—afraid that you won't be able to protect them."

Temple was silent a moment. "I may not be doing what you think I should, but I never asked for this. _Any of it_. Don't forget that."

"Neither did she," Francisco added softly.

Temple scoffed. "If you like her so much, why didn't you marry her?"

"My father insisted on giving you the best."

Temple eyed the prince suspiciously. "That boy mine?"

"I would never touch your wife. Some of us are still men of integrity."

"Good to know."

"And even if I offered, she sees only you."

He stared at the wall. "Yeah, she's sweet. Now, if you'll be so kind, _Sire_, to let me finish my bath so that I might get my affairs in order with my steward. Then I'm returning to my men."

"You wanted peace once."

"I still do. And we shall have it. Once Philippe has paid for what he's done."

"Don't you think he has? Time and time again?"

"Have you ever lost a child?" The prince shook his head. "I've lost two. Trust me. He hasn't begun to pay for his sins. You want peace? Once Philippe is dead, you can rule his whole kingdom in peace."

Lady Temple did not see her husband much over the next 18 months, but it didn't surprise her. Her mother had warned her he'd be distant, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Their son didn't know him and wouldn't go near him. Even though he had returned earlier that week, she still saw him very little. As she sat in her room working on some embroidery, she had fallen asleep. She awoke with a start. It was late, and no one had fetched her to put her son to bed. She wasn't even sure where he was. She hurried into the adjoining room, and she was stunned at what she found. Her husband was holding their son. He saw her. He put a finger on his lips motioning for her to be quiet. She couldn't help but stare for a moment. He had looked away from her and down at his son. "Here," she said reaching for the child.

He brushed her aside gently. "It's okay. I've got him."

She watched him in disbelief as he put his son to bed. There was a gentleness in him that she just didn't expect from him. She did see it in him every now and then, but it never ceased to shock her. Their wedding night was the first time she had seen it. His face hadn't changed its expression all day. When the time came to go to their room, he gave everyone a dark look, and no one dared follow them. He led her to their room. He slid the bolt, locking them in. He stared at her. Uncomfortable by the look, she stared at the floor. "You fear me," he had said simply.

"No, My Lord."

"You do. I've seen that look on a thousand faces." She shook her head. He approached her. He tilted her chin up to look at her face. "You must not fear me," he said simply. She had been amazed at the gentleness in his touch. She did not expect that from him.

"Not _you_, My Lord. I fear I won't please you."

"It does not _please_ me to see you afraid. Know this, I have no wish to harm you."

Now, she watched him be a father to their son, and she wondered why he couldn't be that way all the time. As he walked by her, he squeezed her shoulder in an affectionate gesture. She followed him into her room. She still looked at him confused. "What?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't see you with him much." He didn't say anything. "Does he remind you of him?"

"Of who?"

"The son you lost." His face instantly tensed, and she regretted what she said. She had known better than to even approach such a subject.

She couldn't know what went through his head: the memories of the convent—the nun who offered to let him see his children. He could see his daughter's hand hanging from beneath the sheet. He reached out and touched it, but he regretted it instantly. It was so cold. He didn't look further. He chose to remember her as she was. And his son? He was nothing more than a small bundle in the nun's arms, and he left him that way.

"I'm sorry," his wife whispered. "I just . . . I'm just trying to figure out . . ."

He shrugged. "He doesn't," he said coldly. "I never saw my son," he said turning away.

She wanted to ask why, but she didn't want to push him further away than he already was. She just wanted to learn who he was. She wanted to understand. He just would not allow her that. "I see that Manuel is warming up to you?" she said changing the subject back from one son to the other.

She was pleased to see a half smile appear across his face. "Yes. I guess he is." He reached out and put a hand on her head. He leaned down and kissed her temple. "I'm proud to have such a son."

"Are you interested in having any more, My Lord?" she asked softly.

He tilted his head back and stared at her a moment. "I suppose. It is the king's wish."

"And _you_, My Lord? What is _your _wish?"

He shuffled somewhat nervously in an action that seemed odd to her. "I used to want children," he said with a curious look on his face that she could not read.

"And now?"

"I don't know." His brow furrowed in thought. He clenched his eyes shut to consider his answer. "I haven't really thought about what I want from this. I know you've been busy . . . with Manuel, and God knows, I've had plenty to do. I don't want to overburden you, and it not like I'm ever here . . . I guess . . . What is it _you_ want from me?"

"You are my husband. I want you to stay. I've always wanted you to stay."

He stepped closer to her. He put a hand on her head and held her against his chest. He pitied that look on her face. And she was so small. His hand covered much of her head. She was standing mostly straight up, but her head barely reached his collarbone. "I have a duty to my king," he began.

She shook her head. "That's your _excuse_. Your first duty is to your family."

"Why do you think I go out there? I'm trying to keep you and our son protected."

"Is it? I thought it was revenge."

He was silent a moment. His expression darkened, and his voice turned cold. "Like you said. My first duty is to my family. And I owe them that."

"You feel guilty?" she asked looking up at his face. He stepped back but said nothing. He only looked away. "It wasn't your fault, My Lord."

"They were coming for me. They wanted to get to me."

"But—"

"No," he said shaking his head. He stepped toward her and cupped her face. "But it doesn't matter. He won't touch you. He can't touch you. I won't let him."

"Who, My Lord?" She didn't finish her question before he kissed her.

"You are my wife. And I won't let anything happen to you. Or Manuel. _Ever_. You understand?"

At that moment, she was slightly afraid of him. He was trembling, and he had a wild look in his eyes. "I trust you. . . . But I always have. What's wrong with you tonight?"

"Nothing. Nothing," he said backing away. "Let's just go to bed."

"Are you going to stay with me?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll stay. At least for tonight, I'll stay."

The situation in terms of the war continued as it was even if it slowed a bit until the end of Tristan's 26th year. Much to his father's dismay, he began going out to the field with the armies. Even though he was his father's champion, he was not exactly put in the heat of battle. He remained protected as much as was possible. As frustrating as that was for Tristan, at least his father allowed him that much. And Tristan could understand that Philippe was too old to go out with them now, and why it made him nervous having his only son in danger.

While Tristan was serving his father's army, he had uncovered interesting news and was eager to share it with his father. He went home and found Philippe going over documents from the battlefield with the chancellor. Tristan entered with a smile on his face.

"Welcome home, Mejo," the king said looking up as he entered.

"I come bearing news. Rumors from Leon."

"From that look on your face I guess it's good news."

He sat down. "A couple of things. First, and just because news of Carlos Temple always seems to interest you, he has children."

"Children?"

"Yeah. Two boys."

"Really?"

"Manuel is five. And Javier is almost three."

Philippe was confused. Where would he get such detailed information? "Where did you hear this?"

Tristan grinned smugly, leaning back in his chair. "Francisco."

Philippe found himself on the edge of his seat. "The Prince of Leon?"

"Yes. He found out I was close by, and he arranged to meet with me secretly."

"Why?"

"He wanted to tell me that his father was dying."

Philippe's heart skipped a few beats. "Dying?"

"Yes. And Francisco hopes for peace. So, of course, I asked about Temple and if he would get in our way. He told me about his family. He's still not a fan of peace, but he will obey his king. The past several years his acts against us have been condoned and even encouraged by the King of Leon, but now, he'll follow a peaceful man."

Philippe smiled and began to pace the room. "We shall have a tournament to celebrate this pact. We'll invite knights from all over the realm to participate. Even Leon. Yes, we'll even have a representative of Leon compete. I wouldn't care if Temple himself represented his kingdom if it meant peace. I mean, this will all take time, of course. The king will have to die. Francisco and I will have to work out the details of the treaty. But it will be a time of great celebration in this kingdom." He laughed. "Tristan, do you know what this means?"

"Yes. You've been working for peace for a long time. I'm glad the news pleases you, Father."

Soledad cleared his throat. "My King, I believe you also had some news for Tristan."

"Yes, yes. I had nearly forgotten. We've set the date for your marriage for the next few months. We thought it might bring some hope to our kingdom. Can you even imagine what it means now? You'll be married within six months and in a year or maybe two, we shall have peace."

"I am to be married?"

"Yes. Does that not please you?"

"It's not that. I guess I just need to get used to the idea."

"Oh, it will be fine. Leonore is coming with her father to spend some time with us. I admit, I already see her as a daughter. You two will suit each other well. Then after we celebrate the new year, you will be married. Ah, _a new year_. It will be a new start for us all."

"Mama, Mama!" Lady Temple sat up with a start as her younger son ran into the room.

"What is it?"

"Papa here!" he said with a wide grin on his face.

"What?" She looked up in time to see Manuel coming around the corner dragging his father behind him.

"Look what I found," the boy said smiling.

She looked at her husband confused. He shrugged. "Francisco sent word to me about the king."

"Oh, right." The boys excitedly began to speak to their father and invited him to play with them, but Lady Temple held them back. "Your father has to go see the king." They began to protest, but she interrupted them. "It's very important. You can play with your father later." She gave him a nod, and he left.

At the end of the night, she sat in her room getting ready for bed when he entered and sat down dejectedly on the end of the bed. "Any news from Aracely?" she asked after a few moments when he said nothing.

"Baby's a girl," he said without emotion.

"I'm sure she and her husband are very pleased," she replied tentatively.

He nodded. "The boys?"

"I put them to bed. You can see them in the morning. They will want to see you. How was the king?"

"Not well."

"Francisco has been preparing to take his place." Her husband scoffed. "What?"

"He's weak. Philippe'll overrun this whole kingdom in a month."

She sat next to him and put a consoling hand on his arm. "No. He'd never get past you. Are _you_ all right?"

"Bastard's keeping me here. Won't let me go back and do my job."

Francisco was making him stay? She had to force the look of joy from her face. "Well, at least you'll have some time with the boys."

"I suppose."

She wondered at his attitude. He was normally restless, irritated, and sometimes more than little cold—even on a good day—but in the six years they had been married, she had never seen him depressed quite like this. She didn't say anything. It seemed that whenever she did, she only made things worse. She just stroked his arm and waited patiently. After all, she wanted to help him. She wanted to see his wounds heal. Maybe the two of them were about to _finally_ have a breakthrough as a couple. Maybe for a moment, he would let his guard down and talk to her. She had hoped their relationship would have improved over the years, but it had instead degenerated to mere politeness, and she was almost convinced that even that was feigned.

Francisco had tried to reassure her that he just needed time. He was just trying to be a good husband to two wives at once. When he let go of Sofia, he would be the model of a devoted husband and father. She wished she believed him. Don Temple had plenty of time, but six years and two children later, nothing had improved. He was gone now more than ever—both physically and emotionally. And as glad as she was that Francisco was forcing him to stay, she knew such news would only make him more irritable than he already was.

He was silent for what seemed an eternity. He finally looked down at her with a strange look on his face. "You don't have to do this," he said softly.

"I know," she replied. She knew that for him what he just said could have been considered a dismissal. She did not acknowledge it as such. She laid her head on his shoulder. She wanted him to know she was there for him. She wouldn't leave him when he needed her even if he wouldn't admit that he did. And never mind that he was hardly ever there when she needed him. She still harbored some hope—even if it was a waning hope—that he could change, and maybe with the promise of peace his anger and grief would be assuaged. Maybe it wasn't time, but peace he needed. He eased his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked. He shook his head. She waited for him to say something. _Anything._ He never did. He finally shrugged her off and headed for the door. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"You want me to join you?" He shook his head and walked out the door.

Temple paced along the outer wall. His king was dying. What did that mean? He saw the way his wife looked at him expectantly, and it gnawed at him. He knew what she wanted from him, but he just could not give her that right now—as much as he wanted to. _Damn him_. Damn Francisco. Why did he make promises on his behalf that he knew he wouldn't keep? Stay? He couldn't stay, and once the king died, he would be trapped. How would he get justice for Sofia then? His sweet little girl? His son that wasn't even given a chance? Isabel? Aracely? He would have to think of a way. There would have to be a way for him to get justice for his family, and he would if it killed him. He sneaked back inside and into the room where his sons slept. They were so young and innocent. They looked so vulnerable. And how did they get so big so fast? He smiled to himself. Manuel reminded him so much of himself. He was agile and strong. He already showed some promise of being a great knight. And little Javier, he was so funny. They were good boys, and he had the woman in the next room to thank for that, and he knew it. He felt guilty. He may have felt guilt for the death of Sofia, but he also felt guilt over his current wife. And some days the guilt for one did outweigh the other. He could admit that. He owed her. When they got peace and he could do no more for Sofia, he would rebuild. He would take his wife and sons home and be whatever she wanted. He would have the time then. He could stay with them, watch over them, and protect them. One day, he would make it all up to them.

She had long since retired for the night by the time he returned. He said nothing—only climbed into bed and pulled her to him. She let him have what he wanted. But then, she lay there staring at him. Earlier, she had thought he had shown a vulnerable side, but now, even after such an intimate moment, with his back to her, she felt further away from him than ever. She was disappointed and discouraged. He may have sworn to protect her and their boys, but it had nothing to do with _her_. She couldn't even remember if the man had ever even called her by her name. She and her children were nothing but items on his long list of responsibilities. She wiped away a tear. Her mother had been right. He would never let her get close to him.

King Philippe made his way through the crowds that had gathered at his home. He had made it a point to speak to all his visitors. Nobles had come from far and wide to celebrate the prince's marriage. Many wished to show support to their prince and their king, but they were also curious. The war with Leon had slowed considerably the past few months. The latest news was that king was dead, and the prince had taken his place. The infamous Green Knight had all but disappeared. Whispers of peace had found their way into many halls, and all wished to know if they were true.

"Ah, Ferdinand del Mau," Philippe said greeting yet another of his guests. "How have you and your family been?"

"Splendid, Sire, splendid," the man said bowing to his king.

"Are your wife and children with you?"

Del Mau grinned. "No, no. I think my daughter may be in mourning."

"What for?" Del Mau nodded at the prince who had his bride on his arm. Philippe smiled understanding. "Ah, yes. I've heard that many young women of the realm have donned black this day."

"Yes, your handsome son has disappointed the hopes and dreams of many."

"But the rest of us will have to settle for peace, I suppose," the king said with a grin.

"Yes, I heard about that. Is it true? Are we to have peace again?"

"We are. The new King of Leon and I almost have it settled. I plan to celebrate with a tournament. You shall have to be sure and tell your son to join us. I'd be happy to let him compete."

"I'm sure he would be honored, Sire." The two men looked over at Tristan who leaned over and whispered something in his wife's ear. She blushed and looked away. "Your son seems quite taken with your choice of bride, Sire."

"Yes. It was a very good match if I do say so myself. They are both rather smitten. I hope to have an heir in this castle soon. And with the peace, this shall be a place of great joy once again."

Del Mau nodded and lowered his voice. "What about Temple?"

"Temple? What about Temple?"

"I was there all those years ago. Remember? What happens to him now?"

"I don't know. I guess it's up to him. Excuse me, My Lord. Enjoy yourself."

Tristan _was_ pleased with his father's choice. He was just not quite as comfortable as he seemed. He had spent time with Leonore, but she was still a bit strange to him. In fact, the whole situation was strange to him. He only knew how to behave around ladies in a formal setting, but this was different. And she was younger than he. She was in her late teens, and he would be twenty-seven in a few months. And Tristan had never lived with a woman before. He didn't even recall his own mother. Now there seemed to be women everywhere. There was Leonore and her attendants who seemed to surround his wife. And her things. Her belongings littered their room and overflowed into others. And even though the girl herself was nice enough, she very much crowded his space. He hoped he would adjust in time. For now, he would simply embrace what he did enjoy about his new bride until he grew accustomed to everything else.


	11. New Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"Again," Tristan said wiping the sweat off his brow on the back of his arm. He and one of his men were sparring in the great hall. Had his mother been alive such a practice might have been discouraged, and being new to the castle, the princess did not interfere with established custom. Out of doors would have been a more appropriate arena, but winter was still in the air, and the men were anxious for sport. And if peace could not be reached, spring meant back to battle, and they all wished to be ready for whatever may come. Both men were wearing the white tabards trimmed in gold emblazoned with a rising sun. The blades clanged back and forth until Tristan had his friend unarmed. "You seem to have misplaced something, My Friend."

"Ah, yes. Alas, Sire, you have beaten me yet again," he replied with grin.

"You didn't let me win, did you? You best not show the same courtesy to the knights of Leon. They may not show you the same mercy as I do."

"Sire," a page called from a safe distance.

"What is it?"

"The king would like to speak with you."

"Tell him I will join him when we're done here."

"Um, he seemed very anxious to speak with you, Sir."

Tristan chuckled. "Then, let's not keep His Majesty waiting." He removed his gloves and strode leisurely toward his father's chambers. His own squire, struggling to keep up with the prince's long stride, handed him a towel which he used to wipe the sweat from his face. He wiped his hands on it and gave it a precursory pass over his head before tossing it carelessly back to his squire. He stepped into his father's private chambers and saw him going through a letter which had the appearance of an official document. "You wished to see me, Father?"

"Yes. Leon has answered our proposal."

Tristan's heart began pounding faster. What would Leon say to Philippe's offer of peace? "And what was Leon's answer?" he asked slowly.

The king's face broke into a wide smile. "Peace. My Son, we shall again have peace." Tristan smiled and was ready to tell the whole world. He would shout it from the battlements and have it proclaimed by his own heralds in every village. The king continued, "I'll take the treaty to Leon and . . ."

"No," Tristan said interrupting him abruptly without thinking. His father? Take the treaty to Leon? "You can't, Father. It's too dangerous. I'll go."

"Nothing can happen to you, Mejo."

"And nothing will. You can't go. I'm younger, and I can get there faster. It's safer for me than you."

Philippe watched the young man standing before him. Tristan had more than proven himself, and he knew his boy was right. His time was over. Tristan should take the treaty. "Then, My Son, prepare for your journey and Godspeed."

"Peace?" Don Temple asked.

"Yes," Francisco the new King of Leon began to explain to his most feared knight, "We've fought long enough. Seen enough blood spilt. Yes, it is time for peace."

The knight stared at him perplexed. "But . . ." He ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. "The years past . . . the fighting . . . all of it . . . all has been for _nothing _if you agree to peace."

"_Nothing?_ We've wanted _peace_. This is what we wanted. What we've fought for. You wanted it as well. Now that it's come you seem more anxious than ever."

"I want peace. And I will have it. But not because of some worthless piece of paper. It will be achieved at the end of my sword. We will have peace only when Philippe is dead. No, not dead. _Destroyed._"

"Your hate runs deep. I thought I warned you about such hate. Where it leads."

"It would have led to peace." The knight turned to go, but the king shook his head at the guard at the door. The boy blocked the way of the knight. The boy trembled at the look of anger in the Temple's face, but he stood his ground. Temple knew if had a sword on him, all he would have to do is draw it. At the slightest hint of steel the boy would have bolted. Instead, he turned back to his liege and gave an exaggerated bow. "My King?"

"Philippe has sent the treaty by his own son. When it arrives, I _will _sign Philippe's treaty. And you as my vassal will honor it. You will no longer raid his lands or attack his armies."

"What shall I do then?"

"You may return to your lands. You'll finally have the time to rebuild Asturius, and you can live in peaceful, quiet retirement with your wife and sons until you are needed again. Or I may have a challenge if you're interested."

"What sort of challenge?"

"King Philippe is celebrating the peace with tournament. He invited a warrior of Leon to compete with the knights of his realm. You are without question my champion. The choice to compete is yours."

"Whatever my king desires," he said flatly.

Francisco stared at him—the one they called the Dragon of Leon. He would go. Francisco hoped it would be enough to ease his wounded ego, and peace would reign once again.

Tristan hurried through the halls and knocked softly at his wife's chambers. "Yes?" He entered slowly—still feeling somewhat like an intruder. She looked up as he came through the door and smiled. "Tristan!" she motioned for her attendants to leave them. She waited for them to leave before she continued. "What brings you here?"

"Am I unwelcome?" he asked smiling and taking a seat.

"No. It's just this time of the day you are usually busy with training or in meetings with your father."

He knelt before her and took her hand. "I have news."

She began to tremble with fear. "What sort of news? My father? Is he all right?"

He smiled. "Yes, yes. All is well," he said reassuringly.

"Then what is it?" she asked almost giddy. What surprise did her husband have for her?

"My father received a message from an emissary of Leon this morning. Leonore, we shall have peace."

"Oh, Tristan!" she exclaimed excited by the news. She threw her arms around his neck. "They'll be no more fighting? Your father and I won't have to worry about you so much. And Don Temple will have to stop or face execution. And our children! Our children will live in a time of peace!"

"Yes. Yes, Leonore. For as long as it is within my power."

She sat back and looked at his face. "When? When will the treaty be signed?"

"I leave for Leon first thing in the morning."

Shock crossed her face. "Wha . . . Leaving? Why you?"

"It should be one of us—either me or my father, and he is too old for such a journey."

She shook her head. "No, it's too dangerous."

He caressed her worried her face. "Leon wants peace. He has for a long time. I fear nothing from him."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. I'll be extra careful. I promise." She replaced her arms around his neck, and he comforted his wife. "All will be well. We shall have peace, and all your worries will be for naught. You'll see."

Lady Temple was tucking in her youngest son. "Did you have fun today?" she asked. Their father had spent the day with them. It was one of those precious days that were far too few. He had been home while Francisco negotiated the treaty, but he had been restless and spent very little time in the castle itself, and his wife who formerly had felt pity and who tried to understand, was now mostly irritated at her husband and the lack of time he spent with his children. But her frustration seemed to pale in comparison to the aggravation that her husband felt toward the rest of them. Francisco's restrictions, while well-intentioned, had done little to better their marriage. The tension between them only increased as Temple's temper shortened, and his wife, now comfortable enough in her situation, began to do battle on behalf of her children. She no longer feared him and was much less interested in pleasing him. He had his quest, and now conquering his indifference became hers.

Today, however, Temple had condescended to grace them with his presence, and both her sons were absolutely giddy with excitement.

The boy nodded with enthusiasm at his mother's question. "Papa let me ride his big black horse."

"He did?"

"Yeah, and Manny fed him an apple, and he sucked on his hand. Papa gave me a sword that he made for me all by himself."

"Yes, I saw that. You and your brother need to be careful with such toys."

"It's not a _toy_. It's a _sword_, Mama."

The door opened, and her husband walked in with Manuel riding his back. He had one arm around his father's neck and in the other hand was a miniature lance. "All right," she said, "that's enough playing knight. It's time to go to bed."

"Hi, Papa!" the little one called from his bed.

"Javy, do as your mother says," he said helping Manuel slide to the floor. He knelt before his older son. "You remember what we talked about?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Good. Now go on to bed."

Before Temple could stand, Manuel threw his arms around his father's neck resulting in an awkward hug. "Goodnight, Papa."

"Night, Papa!" the little one echoed.

"Goodnight, Boys," he said nudging Manuel toward his bed and returning to his own room. He was preparing for peace as best he could. He knew he was going to the tournament, and he could not help but think of the other. He _should_ have been champion. There _should_ have been peace then. He knew Philippe would continue to deny him what was rightfully his. Not this time. This time he had a plan. He would have his vindication. As he thought on these things and preparing for bed, there was a soft knock on the door. "Yes, come in." The door cracked open, and his wife entered. He looked at her perplexed. The two of them rarely shared a room anymore. In fact, the past few days, they had barely tolerated one another's presence. "Planning on staying in here tonight?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I won't intrude where I'm not wanted. You know if you wish to spend the night with me where to find me. However, I do want to know what you told our son."

She was glaring at him. What did she think he had told him? "That he was the man of the family while I was gone and to take care of you and his brother," he said kicking off his shoes.

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Her glare lessened. "Good. He likes learning things from you. They both do. You should be sure and tell him again before you leave."

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

His reply shocked her. "Tomorrow? So soon?"

"I have business in Asturius."

She sighed in frustration. "But you can do that from here! You are never here, My Lord."

"I've been here the past four months while our liege negotiated peace with that blackguard Philippe and his idiot son."

"And you've managed to find some excuse for the past several months not to see us."

"I see you all the time. At dinner. At court. I've even fulfilled my obligations as a husband while I've been back, and I don't recall hearing any objections."

"And I suppose you expect me to be grateful for those few nights I had your company?"

"Isn't that what this argument is about—me spending time with you?"

"It's about your children." He sighed and slumped down on the bed. She softened her tone. "I heard that other than the villages the only part of Asturius you've rebuilt is the cemetery. They say you spend more time there than here."

"That's not true," he replied defensively. "I just . . . I check on them. Just as I do you."

"I know they meant a lot to you," she said sitting down next to him as she pleaded with him. "But we're here now. The boys need you."

He stared at his hands and took a deep breath. "After the tournament and we have peace, . . ."

"Since when have _you_ wanted peace?"

"I've always wanted peace," he said with more force than he intended. "I just wanted it my way." He took a moment to calm himself. "When I come back, I'll be home with you and the boys for as long as you want. We'll rebuild Asturius."

"You mean that?" she asked stunned.

"Yes. You can stare at me all day long."

"And the children?"

"Yes. If we have more children, I'll personally rock them to sleep every night. Javy, Manuel and I will annoy you by dueling in the halls. And you can have me whenever you want."

"Sounds nice," she said, somewhat tentatively taking his hand. "It will be nice to be in our own home, having you around more. The boys will be excited."

"And you won't be nagging me all the time."

She looked up at him and saw a half-sided grin on his face. She smiled back. "Was it so hard? To be nice?" He shrugged. "I thought I'd take the boys to the tournament to see you."

"No," he said quickly.

"See, that's what I mean. Why don't you want us there?"

"I don't want them anywhere near Philippe."

"He's not going to hurt them. You worry too much."

"I'm not taking any chances. Philippe's knights will be there too, and I have a reputation. . . . I'm not even sure I'll make it back alive."

"You're the greatest warrior in both kingdoms. Why wouldn't you?"

"I've killed many men. I'll be surrounded by men who want me dead. Whether or not something happens to me, I don't want them taking out their hatred on you or the boys. . . . You know, I don't . . . I do care for you. And the boys. I really do. Perhaps I haven't shown it very well the past several years, but I do. And I've wanted to keep you—all of you—protected. I don't want any of you where you might find yourself in danger. So you must forgive a poor soldier. I've been at war my whole life. I know nothing else. I've never known anything else."

Her gaze narrowed. "You're actually serious? I don't think I've ever seen this side of you."

He shrugged. "I guess peace changes a man."

"You still don't have to leave tomorrow."

"Yes, I do." She tried to argue, but he put a finger over her lips. "Yes, I do," he whispered and kissed her. He cupped her face and kissed her until he knew she wasn't going to argue with him anymore.

She couldn't help but think maybe she was finally getting through to him. "I wanted to tell you," she began.

"Shhh . . ." he whispered caressing her face. "I have a long journey ahead of me, and I know two little boys who will have you up early," he said planting a kiss on her neck.

"Yes. . . Shall I return to my room?"

She looked up at him, and he saw the question in her eyes. "If you like. But you are more than welcome to stay." He kissed the inside of her wrist.

"I shouldn't," she whispered. "I'm mad at you," she added grinning.

"Do whatever you like," he whispered standing and stepping back away from her giving her the opportunity to leave.

She grinned. "I wish I was as persuasive as you. Why can't I ever talk you into staying?"

He smiled. "When did I ask you to stay? I merely extended an invitation," he said picking her up and laying her down on the bed.

"My Lord?"

"Yes?" he said pulling his shirt over his head.

"May I ask you something?"

"What is it?" he said joining her.

"Who is your father?" she asked almost on impulse.

"What?" he asked stunned.

She knew not to talk about his past—especially his wife or children, but she had never asked about his parents. She knew his mother was dead. Perhaps knowing who his father was would explain some of his behavior, and at the moment, he seemed inclined to talk. "You know, don't you? Who is he?"

He looked away. "Francisco put you up to this?"

"No. I'm your wife. I'm not going to spread the gossip through the kingdom. I just don't like you keeping things from me."

"What makes you think I know?"

"The expression on your face when I asked you. Talk to me." She caressed his cheek. "Please." He thought for a moment. He leaned back down and nuzzled her neck whispering a name in her ear. She jerked away from him. "What?" she asked stunned. He shrugged. "You lie." He shook his head. "But I thought . . . I was told you were the bastard of one of Philippe's knights. That's what everybody said—what they've always said."

"That's what everyone has always assumed. And my mother never corrected them. It helped in keeping the secret."

"Does _he_ know?"

"Yes. And I thought you wished to stay for something else. If you stayed to talk, you can go."

His tone was harsh, but she felt she deserved it. She had after all asked about his past. She had known since they were married that his past—his family—was forbidden territory. And yet, she still couldn't believe what he said or that he had even bothered to answer her. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For telling me."

His anger seemed to have lessened. "Well, you did ask."

She opened her mouth to ask him more questions. Knowing who his father was only confused her more, and she had much more she wanted to know. But she knew if she did, she would only anger him. He seemed to know her mind. "Knowing doesn't really solve anything, does it?"

"No. But I guess it does tell me more about you."

"I guess it does."

"It certainly explains a lot. But . . ." She sighed. "I don't want to anger you."

"Then don't." He then covered her mouth with his before she said anything else.

Princess Leonore awoke to find her husband missing. She knew he was leaving, but he didn't say goodbye. She dressed quickly and ran down the hall. "Where has the company gathered? Have you seen my husband?" she asked a maid in the hall who shook her head. "They must not go yet!" she said in desperation. She ran out to the courtyard where she saw him preparing his white horse. He was with the company he was to be traveling with, and Soledad had come to see him off. "Must you go?" she asked.

He turned and saw her. "Yes, my father the king has spent a lifetime seeking an alliance with Leon. A treaty must be made. But the road is long, and the journey is treacherous so it is best that I go in his stead."

"But, Good Husband, we have been wed for such a short time, and the days seem precious to me. Perhaps I should accompany you."

He grinned. "No, My Lady. We travel lightly—a small company of guards and a string of able horses. No wagons or carriages shall slow us along the way." He chuckled. "And we have no intention of hauling along the trinkets and attendants that are the delight of future queens," he said and mounted his horse.

She smiled. It was not the first time he had teased her concerning her entourage. "Ah, but My Lord, with me at your side the days will seem as hours and the journey a jubilee. Trinkets and all." He chuckled at his wife a second time. "Good Chancellor, tell my husband that negotiating a treaty would be much easier with the future queen in attendance."

Matias had been in the shadows respecting the parting of the newlyweds, but he emerged to reply. "I can do no such thing, Sweet Lady. The tournament that will celebrate our pact with Leon must be prepared, and the king will need your help." He turned to his prince who seemed to have a look of thankfulness in his eyes that he did not support Leonore's position. "Tristan, travel swiftly and beware. For though you ride under the banner of your father's house, there are desperate men who lurk in dark places along your path. Seal the alliance with the King of Leon and return quickly. Your father would have you act as marshal of the tournament."

Tristan reached out and clasped his forearm. "It will be an honor." He turned to his men. "See that all is prepared. We ride for Leon at once." The others left them alone along with the chancellor who bowed slightly to the princess as he left. The snow begin to fall softly. Tristan saw only another cause for delay. He knew the journey needed to be carried out quickly, and he couldn't help but think that Matias's reference to "desperate men" was a veiled reference to Temple and his men. Even though not much had been heard from the Green Knight, all knew he was still out there somewhere just waiting for a chance to strike. Tristan concealed his concerns as his wife approached.

She drew near Tristan's horse and grabbed the reigns. "Then, our parting comes so soon? Tristan, my heart will know no peace until you return."

"Nor will mine, Leonore."

"Look well to your safety, My Love."

"I shall. Look for my homecoming in ten days time."

She turned her face away from him. "Be away, My Beloved, for I cannot bear to watch you go. But this moment—this moment is forever locked in my heart." He took her hand and kissed it.

"Open the gate! Make way for the prince," the warden of the gate called. Tristan began to ride toward them. Before leaving, he waved an arm of farewell.

"Guards, assemble the company," he called. After a final nod to his wife, he turned and rode away.

Temple tramped down the hall preparing to leave for his journey. He heard footsteps trying to catch up with him. He knew who it was by their gait, but he chose to ignore them until she called out his name. "Yes?" he turned and asked perturbed. He knew she had questions, and he didn't want to deal with them right now. He answered enough of them last night, and right now, he didn't have the time nor the patience for any more.

"My Lord," his wife began, "are you still leaving?"

"Yes."

"But . . ."

"I thought we discussed this last night?"

"And I still don't understand. You have plenty of time before you have to leave. Prince Tristan has not yet arrived. You are to return with him. Why must you leave now?"

"I don't need an escort."

"Is that why you're leaving? Your pride? Don Temple, please, stay for a little while longer. Your sons hardly know you. They ask about you all the time, and I'm tired of making excuses for you. They need their father. Why don't you spend a little more time with them?"

"I've spent time with them," he said defensively.

"Yes, you made those wooden swords for them. Yes, you played with them for a few hours yesterday. But you could spend more time with them if only you would. You're their hero. Please. It's only a few days."

"I wish I could. But I must go." He turned, but she grabbed his arm. "What?" he asked more harshly than he intended.

"I just wanted to tell you . . ." she said trailing off at the look of hatred in his eyes. Temple was cold and distant, but he had never looked at her quite like that before, and it frightened her.

He clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He reopened his eyes and stared back at hers. The hatred was gone, but he was still plainly annoyed at her persistence. "Tell me what?"

"I'm pregnant," she said softly.

"Mine?"

"I resent that," she replied with some courage she obtained from the offense she felt at his comment.

"Is it mine?" he repeated.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes."

His gaze wandered to her belly. "Excellent. I'll see you and the boys when I get back."

Francisco was thrilled at the idea of peace. He was not, however, thrilled that Lady Temple seemed to grow continually more depressed with every passing year. It was his fault after all. He had been the one to choose her even if her father and the girl herself were eager to accept his offer. She was a sweet girl, but maybe too young and sweet to have to deal with a man as complex and angry as Temple. She knew how he was, but she had been waiting for him to change. Now her patience was wearing rather thin, but maybe with peace, and Temple home a little more, he would get over his diabolical quest for vengeance and concentrate on his family.

The days passed. Then a week, and Tristan had not arrived. Francisco began to get worried. A few more days passed, and he went looking for Don Temple to ask his advice. He might go ahead and send him on to the tournament without Tristan. He had to get word to Philippe that something was wrong, but he wasn't sure it would be safe to send Temple without Tristan who was to be the assurance of his safety even though he knew Temple didn't think he needed an escort. Despite his loathing of the man, he did need his counsel on the current situation. He could not find his former friend, but he did find Temple's wife who was watching her sons battle with a pair of wooden swords. Francisco shook his head smiling. They looked so much like their father.

"Sire," she greeted him with a sad smile. "Not so rough, Boys!" she called as the elder knocked the other to the ground.

"Where is your husband?" he asked softly as the sound of the wooden swords started back up again.

"Gone," she said looking away.

"Gone? Where?"

"He didn't tell you? He's been gone for a week now. He said he didn't need an escort out of Leon. He was going to check on his affairs in Asturius. Then he was going on to the tournament."

Francisco found himself trembling. Temple was gone. Tristan was missing. This could not be a coincidence nor could it be good for the peace he was so desperate to achieve. "Where is Temple?" he asked harshly more to himself than the lady before him.

"Now? I'm not sure, My Liege."

The younger of the boys let out a cry. "Manuel," she said in frustration. She rushed over to them. "I knew I should not have let your father give you those." She cradled the smaller one while chastising his brother.

Francisco watched the scene without really paying attention. He was processing what the woman had just told him. He called to one of his pages. "Get word to my council. We need to schedule a meeting. We need to find Temple _now_ and see if we can't figure out what happened to Tristan. We'll have to schedule a search party. What you standing around for? Go!"

"Any news of Tristan?" Philippe asked Soleded after Tristan had exceeded the ten days he promised to return.

"None, Sire."

"He should have been back by now. He's long overdue."

"I'm sorry, Sire, but we have received no news."

"What are we going to do about the tournament?" Philippe asked. Matias shrugged and left him alone. They couldn't have the tournament without Tristan. He was to be the marshal of the tournament. It was he who was to bring the signed treaty back. There was no peace without Tristan. He would give him a couple more days. Then he was sending messengers to Leon to find out what was keeping him.

Temple sat in a tavern in one of his villages when the king himself entered. Francisco motioned everyone else to leave them. Temple didn't rise or bow—only stared at the king coldly. "So this is where you'd rather be than with your wife and children?"

"What do you want?"

"I want to know what you've done," Francisco said harshly.

Temple looked at him confused. "My Lord? I have done nothing."

"What have you done with Tristan?" Francisco asked not believing a word he said.

"Tristan? You mean the prince never arrived?" Temple replied looking confused.

"No, he did not. And don't play dumb with me. You know he didn't."

He shrugged. "Well, Philippe has been known to insult Leon before. This is nothing new."

"Stop. You know where Tristan is."

"How would I know? I've been here the past week. Ask anyone."

"You may have been here, but your arm has a very long reach. Where is he? Where is the prince?"

"I don't know," he replied forcefully. The king was silent. "You just don't want to admit that you've been deceived by Philippe. The man lies to get peace. . . . You still wish me to compete in his little tournament? I would understand if you wished to answer this newest insult to our crown."

"No. I want you to compete. I still wish peace. I am sure Philippe is not to blame in this. You will tell him that Tristan never arrived?"

"I will give him your message, Sire."

"Good." He sat down at the table with him. "I went to the cemetery first. I saw the fresh flowers." Temple said nothing. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to do something like that for your wife that is living. She likes the smell of flowers as well."

"Then you pick her some," he said coldly. "You are awfully close to my wife and those boys."

Francisco crossed his arms. "Watch yourself. I can have you hanged for what you're implying."

Temple smirked. "That'd be convenient for you. You can comfort my widow in the comfort of your own home."

"It's not my fault you won't rebuild Asturius."

Temple turned his gaze from his king and stared out the window. "I plan to when I return," he said calmly.

Francisco's anger lessened at the news. "Really? That's good news, Temple. And when you come back, we need to discuss your son."

"My son?"

"Yes. He'll need to start training as a page soon. We need to discuss who you would entrust him with."

Temple nodded. "He is getting to that age, isn't he?"

"My father got what he wanted. You have two little Carlos Temples."

Much to the prince's shock, Temple grinned slightly. "Yes. Two future warriors of Leon. Three actually."

"Three?"

"My wife is pregnant."

"Oh. She didn't tell me. Congratulations."

"You look surprised."

"I didn't even realize you two shared a room anymore. I thought you figured you'd done your duty. My father is dead, and well, . . . I didn't expect you to have more children." Temple shrugged. "Well, you'll get what you wanted. I know you missed your chance with Sofia, but you have a new opportunity. You'll get to raise your young family in peace."

Temple thought a moment and took a sip from his drink. "Yes. After the tournament, we will have peace. Philippe won't hurt them anymore."

Francisco rose to leave. He looked at his knight who rose out more out of habit than respect. Francisco knew in his gut that something wasn't right. Even if Temple wasn't responsible, he knew who had done this. "Know this, Temple," he said to his knight who merely stared blankly. "If I find out you're lying to me about the prince and the treaty, I'll have your head. I don't care about what you think of Philippe or that your childhood was awful or that you lost your family. I _will _hold you responsible. And you will not go unpunished."

"Sire? The knights are beginning to arrive," one of Philippe's squires said.

"News of Tristan?" Philippe asked without turning to face him. It was a phrase he had repeated all too frequently the past few days.

"None," the squire replied.

"Perhaps when the knight of Leon arrives, he will bring us news."

"Who is King Francisco sending?"

Philippe sighed. "Don Temple."

The young man's face turned red. "_He_ will be here? You will allow that?"

"I've promised he will be protected and treated with respect."

"Respect? That butcher?"

Philippe knew that this would be the attitude of most of those residing in his realm. He didn't blame them, but it was price he was willing to pay for peace. "You can stand him for a few weeks if it means peace."

"Do you trust him?"

"I'm assigning some men to keep an eye on him."

There was silence for a long moment. "Sire . . . do you think . . . Tristan may already be dead . . . should we trust Leon?"

"Leon? Yes. The king and I have been working together for peace for almost ten years now. Temple? I don't know. I guess it depends on how well he obeys his king."

"His new king who does not agree with him."

"Well, he wanted peace at one time."

"Sire . . . He wouldn't hesitate to hurt Tristan. If the prince were alive, we would have heard something. There is no reason for a delay such as this with no news."

Philippe looked at him, and the squire knew by the sadness in his eyes that Philippe felt the same. "All the same, I will not give up hope. My son is alive somewhere. And the princess is to hear _none_ of this." He nodded in reply. "There is no reason for her to be any more concerned. Not until we have any proof."

"When is Temple supposed to arrive?"

"He was supposed to return with Tristan. They were to bring the treaty together."

"That's asking for trouble."

"You have no idea. But there's no evidence that Tristan ever made it to Leon. I suppose with the knights arriving, Temple should follow suit. If I know Francisco, he will send a knight to compete with or without a treaty."

"If he wants peace this desperately, why Temple? Knowing his reputation?"

"They were friends once. They both worked for peace. And Temple is the Champion of Leon. He's a powerful, respected man in the kingdom. He's a hero, and the people follow him."

"They fear him."

"Well, regardless. They follow him. To deny him would be an insult that Francisco can't afford."

There was a knock on the door, and the princess entered. "Father?"

Philippe forced a smile. "Ah, Leonore, come in. Come in. What can I do for you?"

"Any news?" she asked. It was a common refrain for her as well.

"Alas, My Lady, there is none." she nodded her head sadly and sat quietly wringing her hands.


	12. New Chapter 11

**Part Three: The Terror of Leon**

**Chapter Eleven**

Temple sat astride his horse at the edge of the wood. He peered from beneath his dark hood and looked toward the east where he could see the fortress of King Philippe on the hill. He had been fighting his way here since he was a boy, and this was the first time he had been able to approach it of his own free will. And yet, instead of approaching it in glory or even with a taste of victory, he was on his way to acknowledge peace. _Peace._ He had determined already that his last tournament was not to be just a show. Peace would not come as easily as they anticipated. It wouldn't be right. There was no justice in this. No honor is such a victory. Francisco may have been content to just lay down arms, but he was not. Nor was he ever meant to be. He had always been a fighter, and if no one else would fight for his family, he would. Philippe had never even paid for killing his grandparents. As the only survivor from that raid, he should be the one to avenge them—all of them. Not his uncle, not his son—him and him alone. He mentally and physically prepared himself for what lay ahead. This was it. Fate had destined him for this moment, and he would make the most of it.

The weather was perfect for tournament. All traces of winter had disappeared. The wind had lost its bite and was replaced by a warm but slight breeze that wafted through the air bringing with it the fragrances of pockets of celebration from throughout the kingdom. It sickened him. To him, these people were celebrating the loss of his family when they should all mourn, and he was eager to stamp out the music. All in good time.

As he contemplated his destiny, he could hear approaching horses. Instead of retreating to the shelter of the wood, he awaited their arrival. Two of Philippe's knights who were on patrol were coming toward him. He had seen several such patrols. No doubt looking for evidence of the missing prince. Either that or making sure that he, Don Temple, was up to no mischief. He had avoided being seen so far. He could have retreated into the wood, but he was close enough to his destination that remaining unnoticed would be impractical. He was already behind schedule anyway. So as the two guards approached, Temple remained where he was.

"Who goes there?" one of them asked upon seeing his hooded form by the trees.

"A humble knight of Leon," he said bowing slightly in their direction. "I am here on invitation from your king."

The two of them exchanged glances. "Your name, Sir Knight?"

"Temple."

The two knights tensed and gazed at him suspiciously. Their hands began inching toward their swords. Even their horses seem to grow more restless and impatient for action. "Why are you not on the road?" one of them asked with a stern voice. He was sure he sounded much braver than he felt.

Temple shrugged. "Roads are crowded. I move faster cross-country anyway."

"Not to mention the crowds would have scattered like cattle in his presence creating all sorts of trouble. Panic and chaos would have replaced the joyous procession to the tournament. Maybe Temple's intentions were not malevolent, and perhaps he was wiser to not take the road," one of the guards thought to himself. Despite this, there was no way he would take any chances with the maniac that was before him. "You came alone?" he asked, knowing, of course, that he did not. He would have been a fool if he did.

"My squires are camped not far from here."

The guards nodded. "We will escort you to the king."

"No need."

The other shifted uncomfortably. "Forgive us, My Lord. We do not fear for your safety but our own—ours and our people."

"If we leave now, we will arrive before nightfall," his comrade added.

"Green Knight, the choice to leave with us is yours, but know that from now until you reach the castle, you will not be left unsupervised."

"Do you not trust me, Sir Knight? Or are you just afraid to turn your back on me?" Temple asked with a malicious grin.

Philippe's knight turned red, but he ignored the question. "Have your squires ready to leave within the hour. We will await you here."

Temple bowed slightly in acquiescence and rode into the wood to retrieve his retinue.

On strict orders from his master to hurry, the page ran quickly up the stairs to deliver his message. He was gasping for air, clutching his side as he ran. His feet skidded along the floor as he rounded the corner. He didn't even bother to knock. He simply burst into Philippe's study. "We just received word. Temple is on his way," the boy said, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. The old king just sat staring out the window seemingly unmoved by the news. He made no move that indicated that he even knew his thoughts had been interrupted. "Sire?" the boy continued wiping the sweat from his brow. "Did you hear? It's Temple. He's . . ."

"What of the treaty? Is Tristan with him?" Philippe interrupted.

"No, there was no sign of Tristan nor any mention of the treaty, but we are bringing him straight to you."

"He's coming willingly?"

"Appears to be."

"Makes you nervous, doesn't it?" Philippe said with a slight smile. That man never did anything Philippe asked without putting up a fight just on principle. Even his very obedience made him look suspicious. Mistrust would definitely characterize the events of the next few weeks. Maybe he was just being naïve, but Philippe sincerely hoped that Temple would come quietly, compete in the tournament, and leave without incident. As much as he hoped this, however, Philippe was not foolish enough to think that Temple wasn't up to something. Tristan was missing. He knew as well as anyone that Temple could not be innocent.

The young page sighed. "Yes, Sire. He must be up to some mischief."

"Fear not. We'll keep an eye on him. No more of our people will die. I will not stand for it."

Ferdinand del Mau had arrived at the tournament just as promised. His eldest son was anxious to compete with the other knights to prove his worth. His two younger children were excited as well. They had never before been to the royal palace. His youngest son was silenced as he peered around him. Ferdinand smiled at the look of awe on his face as he stared at the large stone buildings and the hordes of people dressed in the colors of their kingdoms. In many ways, it was like walking through a rainbow. His teenage daughter looked eagerly among the faces for some of her friends. He kept urging her to wait until the family was settled, but she seemed to not hear him.

After the family was shown to their rooms, del Mau's daughter Catalina hurried down the hall to her parents' room. "Mother?" she asked

"Yes?" she asked distracted by the unpacking.

"May I go find Amelia?" she asked anxious to explore the castle with her peers.

"Yes," she said absently. Catalina was about to leave for her errand. "Wait, Catalina?"

"Yes?" she asked turning.

"Do me a favor and take your brother."

Catalina sighed in frustration. She didn't want her little brother tagging along. He could only get in the way in what promised to be an excellent adventure, but she also knew her mother needed help so she conceded. "Fine."

Eduardo del Rey meandered through the ever increasing sprouting of tents to the area where the page had directed him. Banners of varied colors heralding representatives from all over the realm decorated the otherwise empty field. He listened to the knights around him calling out good natured jeers and taunts to each other. Such sounds became more quiet as he approached a bare part of the field. Whomever the plot belonged to had not yet arrived, and the knights passing by it eyed it with disgust or dread. He found himself adjusting his yellow tabard as his heart started racing. This must be the spot reserved for the knight of Leon. He had heard rumors: Don Temple was coming to tournament. As he scanned the space around him, he began to believe that those tales were not fabricated. Philippe's guards were patrolling the plot and the immediately surrounding area. They seemed to be attempting to be inconspicuous, but they were there all the same—watching and waiting.

For now, he pushed the thought from his mind as he approached his own tent. His squires had already prepared everything for his arrival. Yellow and brown banners blew in the breeze announcing his presence. He leapt from his horse and handed him off to one of his attendants and glanced around for his brother.

"Del Rey!" he heard. He turned. A knight in red stumbled awkwardly toward him. He held an empty tankard in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. Every now and then, he blotted the sweat from his face. He smiled widely. "Alejandro del Rey!"

Eduardo smiled slightly. "Eduardo, de Roig."

The Red Knight looked confused for a moment then smiled. "Right. I knew that."

"I see you've been celebrating," Eduardo said nodding at the tankard.

"What's not to celebrate? The war is over."

"I'll celebrate when I've won," he replied with a grin.

De Roig laughed. "Oh, I see how it is then. Where is your brother? He's not competing?"

"Not this time. Only one of us will compete from Navarre."

"And you won the draw, huh? I guess he's sulking somewhere around here? Well, good luck to you. Don't you worry about our knight of Leon. I plan on taking care of him early."

"Is it true that Don Temple is representing Leon?"

"It is. But like I said, don't be afraid of that bastard."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"No? You think you'll be the one to best him then?"

"I didn't say that. I would like to test my skill and mettle against a man with abilities such as his. I'm certainly not afraid of him. I have done nothing to him. He holds no personal grudge against me or my house. But I'm also not foolish enough to think that he could be easily bested by any of us, myself included."

De Roig lost his mirthful expression. "Oh, bested he shall be. He killed my father among many other innocents. He will not leave this tournament victor. Nor shall he leave it unscathed. If I have anything to do with it, he won't leave it at all alive. Surely he or his men are guilty of killing someone close to you."

"His violence has touched many. But the war is over, de Roig. It's not my place to condemn him."

"You are young, del Rey. Temple and I have a history, and he better watch his back." Del Rey watched his fellow knight depart. De Roig was older than he by at least a decade. He may have been wiser and a better warrior. But del Rey also saw the page that was following de Roig. At least Philippe didn't see the need to have him watched.

Lord Chancellor Matias de Soledad did not say much to his king, for his liege had been preoccupied lately with the affairs of the tournament. But he too was concerned about Tristan's safety. He feared he was dead—one last desperate act of Temple or his men to cause Philippe distress and pain. Of course, he also knew that Temple would compete in the tournament the moment he found out that de Roig was participating as well. De Roig had been smart enough to avoid Temple the past several years, but now would be Temple's opportunity to get close to him and do some damage. Temple would not miss this chance, and de Roig was arrogant enough to think that he had the advantage over the Champion of Leon and would defeat the bastard in grand fashion. Philippe had assigned his men to keep an eye on Temple, but Matias had assigned his own detail to keep an eye on de Roig. If either knight so much as spit in the other's direction, he wanted to know about it. As he walked down the hall, he found the princess anxiously pacing. He pitied her and her situation, but Philippe had made him swear silence where his fears were concerned. She noticed his approach and forced a smile. "Ah, Lord Chancellor, what of my husband? Is there news?" she asked upon seeing him.

"Alas, My Lady, there is none. However, the king has sent riders to seek him out."

She nodded. Despite the note of cheerfulness in her voice, he noticed the fear and sadness in her eyes. She knew. They were protecting her from nothing, but they all kept up appearances anyway as she feigned ignorance. Manners and rank did allow them a convenient façade behind which to hide their fears. "That is well. And the knights? Have they all arrived?"

"They have indeed, My Lady."

"Oh then, do welcome them while I take up a place on the ramparts and await my husband's arrival."

"It will be my pleasure," he said bowing and turning to complete his errand.

Catalina had succeeded in her quest to find her friend Amelia, and together with her brother Esteban, they explored the palace of their king. They reveled in the excitement and joy that had spread throughout the kingdom at this promise of peace. Catalina and Amelia followed young Esteban who seemed to be following no set path besides the end of his nose. They made their way through serfs, wenches, lords, ladies, squires, pages, and knights. In fact, at one moment, Catalina almost tripped over her brother. He himself had almost bumped into a knight of the realm, and he had stopped abruptly and stared at him in awe. She did not understand her brother's fascination until she looked up as well. From a distance, the knight with shoulder length blond hair and red and yellow livery looked like any other man, but standing next to him, he towered above them. They made their apologies and excused themselves.

"Did you see how tall he was?" Esteban whispered when they were far enough away to not be seen or heard. "He was like a giant."

"How tall do you think he is? Six and a half feet? Maybe more?" Catalina asked.

"You better hope your brother doesn't fight him," Amelia said. "It'd be like David and Goliath."

Catalina rolled her eyes and smiled. Amelia kept talking, but it was too late. Catalina had been immersed in the sights and sounds around her. She no longer heard Amelia and her brother joking and laughing. She was entranced by the sights of the majestic, noble warhorses and the glistening of weaponry in the sun. She heard the clink of armor and weapons and the distant sounds of a smith plying his trade in preparation for the coming test of arms. She was surrounded by handsome young men and women full of life and celebration that was contagious. She was glad to be a part of this event. It was something that the bards would sing about for generations, and she would be able to say that she was there.

Thus enthralled, she barely heard Amelia ask her a question. She turned to her and saw her expectant expression. She quickly replayed the last few moments and remembered a few bits of her sentences. "Are . . . us . . . tonight?" Catalina nodded. "Mother and Father will be busy with Alberto. They want to be sure their son is fully prepared to compete so Esteban and I will intrude on you and your parent's kindness tonight if that's all right."

"Absolutely. You know they don't mind." Amelia continued her chattering while Catalina, confident that she had adequately answered the correct question, turned her attention back to the merry world of fantasy dancing around in her own mind.

The two siblings along with Amelia and her parents made their way to the feast that was the official start of the tournament. They all entered and found their seats and eagerly waited for the royal guests to arrive. Lord Chancellor Matias de Soledad entered, and everyone cheered. All were thrilled to be celebrating this pact with Leon. This was truly a time to rejoice. "My Lords, My Ladies, welcome. The time has passed quickly, and we are at last at the long awaited moment when peace with Leon so long looked for has finally arrived. The dreams of the king, amnesty and harmony with our ancient enemy, are come to life—his designs complete. So tell me, answer me with one single voice. Have you come to celebrate this day?" All cheered again. Catalina felt the excitement emanating from all present as she inched to the edge of her seat. "Then allow me to present her royal highness, wife of the prince of the realm, and in heart daughter to His Majesty, King Philippe. Flawless, radiant, exquisite in her noble beauty, Princess Leonore."

He bowed slightly at the entrance of the princess. The people cheered for her as well. "Thank you, Lord Chancellor."

The Lord Chancellor then continued and introduced the king. "Master of Fate. He bears the scepter and wears the crown in the company of his royal household and those chosen to serve him this day. I present your host, our Liege Lord Philippe, His Majesty the King!" He entered to many cheers and ovations of his own.

"Good Nobles, welcome to the hall of my forefathers. Many a feast has here been served and revelry had, and tonight shall be no exception," the king said to his guests.

"Good Nobles, welcome," the princess began, "I am delighted to see you at our tables. Tonight we celebrate the peace for which we have hoped for so long. Our hearts are filled with joy."

"Ah, joy indeed. The peace so long looked for," the king agreed.

"Yet even as we begin our celebration is the taste bittersweet without the return of my beloved," she said privately to the king.

"Riders are sent," he said as an encouragement. "Although my son is overdue, fear not. His mission is one of peace."

"I will feel no peace until his banner flies once again over the walls. Oh, but we neglect our noble guests."

"I don't know about you, Sire, but for myself, my throat is parched," the chancellor added.

"Ah, as is mine," the king replied.

"Shall we raise a toast?" Matias asked handing him a glass.

"A toast it is! Come, come! Raise your cups!" Philippe said returning his attention to his guests. "To honor!"

"To honor!" the crowd repeated.

"To glory!" Chancellor Soledad added.

"To glory!"

"To chivalry!" the king said.

"To chivalry!"

"To . . ." the chancellor began, but the princess interrupted him.

"To the return of the prince!" she said.

"Amen," Amelia said quietly, and Catalina tried to contain her laughter. Even though she had never been to the palace, she had seen the rather attractive Prince Tristan. His return would be a cause to rejoice indeed.

"Ah, and to the peace he will bring to the realm," the king added oblivious to the girls down the table.

"To peace," all three said together.

"To peace!"

"And now what of the feast?" the king asked.

"Oh, Your Majesty, I have had the finest fare in all of the kingdom prepared for our guests," the princess replied.

"And, your grace, to wait any longer . . ." Matias began.

"Then I say let the feast now be served," the king said to the waiting serfs and wenches who then served the feast.

Catalina enjoyed celebrating with those around her even though she only picked at her food. She was too excited to eat. Surrounded by lords and ladies and the knights of the realm, she spent the time happily playing and joking with her friend and brother, but just as the meal was drawing to a close, the doors burst open. The noise was so sudden that Esteban jumped. A knight entered with several of his squires, and for the first time, Catalina saw the dreaded green banners emblazoned with the golden dragon. The room instantly tensed as the Green Knight made his way toward the dais. Everyone stared at him with some combination of hatred, revulsion, and fear, but Catalina could not help herself and nudged her friend next to her.

"What?" Amelia whispered.

"_Oh my God_," Catalina replied slowly and emphasizing every syllable as she stared in awe.

"What? . . . _Oh_." It had taken her friend a moment to notice what she'd seen. The Green Knight of Leon was by far the most beautiful man either of them had ever seen up close. He stopped not far from where Catalina sat, and she found herself making a serious effort not to gawk.

King Philippe stood with some hesitation, and although he was clearly uncomfortable with the Green Knight's presence, it was he who spoke first. "

The Green Knight seemed to be standing on ceremony as well even if his tone was slightly sarcastic. "His Majesty is most gracious and welcoming indeed, yet of a treaty, I know nothing. And if I arrive as an ambassador, then let the sword and shield of Leon serve as my quill and my ink."

Matias was insulted by his tone. He knew he hated Philippe, but considering the circumstances, he could have shown a little more respect. "You dare to speak in that manner to the king!"

"To _your_ king, I will speak as I see fit. Leon awaits word of a treaty, yet neither scroll nor bearer has arrived."

The king looked stunned. "_None arrived?_ But my son, the prince of the realm, was dispatched nearly a fortnight ago to secure the peace and to escort you in honor and safety to the tournament."

"As you can see, I require no escort, nor do any of the warriors of Leon need the leave of_ little kings_ to go where they would."

Several grumbling voices went through the knights. Philippe tried to stop them. "Enough, My Lords. Green Knight, I see you deem yourself and your king wronged as well you might, yet in good faith and honest desire for peace was an emissary sent, and our desire for peace has not waned. I pray you tell us, what news have you of my son and his errand?"

"None. And none. Yet my king has no need to repay insult with discourtesy so I, the Champion of Leon, appear at your tournament. The honor and the skill of Leon have been called to the test, and to give answer to that question only do I cast this reply to your brave company." In a sudden motion, he drew his sword and held it as a challenge to the knights near him. His stare met with that of a knight dressed in red livery bearing a lion. The hate between them was obvious.

Philippe laughed. He seemed to be the only one not offended by the Green Knight's impertinence. "You are _valiant,_ My Lord—like all the sons of your kingdom. Rash and foolhardy as well. You wish to compete? To test your _skill_ and courage? Very well. Curb but for a moment your insolence. I will grant your wish. Perhaps you shall meet my finest warrior. For now, My Lords, I pray you retire and prepare for the tournament."

"My Lords, My Ladies, raise a cheer for the king's company and for your knights of the realm!" Matias called out as the king made his exit.

Everyone cheered for their own knights-showing their support for their own heroes against the impudence of the Green Knight. Catalina, however, instead of cheering for her brother with her friends, found her attention had not left the handsome man who gave one last scowl to the others and left the hall. Her gaze followed the form of the Green Knight until joined by his squire at the entrance, and they both left together.

Amelia leaned over beside her. "His squire wasn't bad looking either."

Catalina smiled and chuckled as an automatic response. Sure, the Terror of Leon's presence demanded attention, and just sitting and watching him talk was a pleasant diversion in itself, but there was something else that she couldn't quite put her finger on. There was more to that man than met the eye. Why did he hate Philippe so much? And what was going on between him and the Red Knight? She felt a tug at her sleeve jerking her from her thoughts. Esteban was trying to get her attention. "What?"

He nodded toward the end of the table. "Mother and Father are motioning for us to join them." Catalina said a quick goodnight to Amelia and her family and hurried after her brother.

As Philippe hurried from the room, he heard light footsteps rushing to catch up with him. He turned slightly and saw the princess. "Yes, My Lady?" he asked turning fully.

"Your Majesty, Tristan never made it to Leon?"

"That is what Temple said."

"What does that mean?"

He shook his head and began walking away. "I don't know. I don't know." He said retreating from her searching stare and entering his private chambers. He stared out the window, down at the lights illuminating the tents on the field below. Leonore was right. What did this mean? He had wondered at Tristan's delay, but it never occurred to him that Tristan had never made it to Leon. He assumed that there had been some problem with the treaty or that Temple committed some sort of offense during their return. But to have never made it there? Temple was here, and he hinted that Francisco was insulted. Maybe he was. Maybe Temple was exaggerating. He would have to send news to Francisco immediately to reassure him of the peace and his intentions.

The next question still remained. Was Temple guilty of the sabotage? The answer seemed obvious, but how could he prove it? Was it too late to save Tristan? If not, would he be able to give Temple what he wanted in exchange for him? Because Philippe knew that whatever Temple wanted, it would probably be more than he could give.

Temple walked deliberately and with purpose to his tent. His squires had worked tirelessly with Philippe's to prepare the place for him. They were still working, but his personal accommodations had been set up. Without ceremony, he entered with Alfonso at his heels. As he handed his squire his sword and began removing his gloves, he spoke. "Did you see where de Roig is camped?"

"No, My Lord. Certainly Philippe will not have him anywhere near you."

"And I'm certain his friend's son is well protected," he replied removing his tabard and preparing himself for a night of blissful sleep after his travels.

"They don't trust you wander alone either."

"You saw Philippe's guards too then? We are definitely being watched. Have everyone guard their movements closely. Their conversations as well."

"It will be done. How does de Roig fit into your plan, My Lord?" Alfonso asked while unfastening the clasp of his master's chain mail armor with an unmistakable glint of murder in his eye.

"If I seek him out, it will only give Philippe an excuse to send me back home or hang me, but don't worry about him. He'll find me. He's just that stupid."

"Perhaps he'll challenge you during the tournament."

"I hope he does," he replied pulling the shirt over his head even as his whole body seemed to exhale a sigh of relief as the weight of his armor fell from his weary body. "See about finding us and the men some food. Tell one of Philippe's pawns not to expect us back in the hall. We will be taking all of our meals here," Temple added.

"Anything else?"

Temple shook his head and with a wave of his hand, dismissed his squire. He splashed cold water on his face from a basin in the corner. He braced himself with his hands on either side of the table and took a few deep, calming breaths. Dust and grime from his journey mingled with the water and tainted the basin as it dripped from his face and hair. Rage pounded from his temples through his heart down to his fingertips, but now was not the time lose it.

That brief moment at the feast was the first time he had seen Philippe since the last tournament. Seeing him again in person was like ripping the scab off a fresh wound. He _hated_ that man. When he saw the look of concern on his face for his _precious _Tristan, he could have killed him then and there, but there were too many knights near him who would stop him before his stroke fell. He wiped the moisture from his face and scrubbed his hands and forearms while Alfonso brought in his meal. He only had to hold himself in check a little while longer, and with all the security around him, he would have to be careful, or he was a dead man. It would be unacceptable to meet his end with his plan still unfinished. This tournament wouldn't be like the last one. This time he would get what was his. He would be champion of both kingdoms, and no man would stop him.


	13. New Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Catalina stood with Amelia waiting the parade for the tournament. Her older brother had told her where to stand, and she trusted that this was a good spot. They had arrived early to ensure a good view and now found themselves bored with little to do but sit and wait. They watched the people who passed by wearing the colors of their kingdoms. They saw a fight or two break out between some of the few supporters of Leon and those of other kingdoms. They were put down quickly by Philippe's guards who had probably been stationed strategically for such a purpose. Amelia began tapping her foot impatiently. The rhythmic sounds of her shoes on the stones irked Catalina, but she pushed it from her mind and continued watching the passers-by hoping for a glimpse of the infamous Green Knight. She knew her intrigue wasn't healthy, but she watched for him all the same. During this moment of stillness, Catalina heard someone calling her name. She looked around for the source of the voice. It was Maria—another of her oldest friends. With the new addition to their party, the girls eagerly chatted away until the parade began.

"Hey, look over there," Maria said pointing at Philippe's captain of the guard. "He's cute."

Catalina shrugged. "He's all right. Have you seen the Green Knight yet?"

"No."

"He's pretty." Catalina nodded at the young man she was admiring. "That's a _boy_."

Maria laughed. "I like innocent, boyish charm."

"Me, not so much. I want a_ man._"

Maria laughed a little harder until the parade began. They all stood waving their blue banners cheering for Catalina's brother while appraising the other knights of the realm. Who would provide the most competition? Who would win the prize? All the knights were smiling, waving, and throwing flowers. Well, all but one. The Green Knight of Leon had condescended to participate in the festivities, but he neither smiled nor waved to anyone except those few and small pockets of those cheering for Leon. Catalina almost felt bad for him because everyone booed him even though this was supposed to be symbolic of a friendly alliance. The only thing that kept her from feeling true pity was the Green Knight's attitude. He did not seem at all disappointed by his lack of support. In fact, he seemed to revel in it.

"Oh my God," Maria said as she watched the Green Knight pass by.

Amelia laughed. "That's what Catalina said when she saw him last night."

Catalina shrugged smiling. "I told you."

During the procession, all three girls had caught a flower and were flattered at their success. Armed with their spoils, they made their way back to Philippe's courtyard where many options of entertainment had been supplied for the guests. They passed a juggler, a knife thrower, and a merchant hawking his wares. They found themselves something to eat and sat within range of a group of musicians who were entertaining the crowd with their melodies and between songs— lewd jokes.

"I don't get it," Maria whispered to Catalina after their leader delivered a rather bawdy punch line.

"Later," Catalina replied with a chuckle not wishing to take the time to explain it at this particular time and place. Maria had managed to weave the stem of her flower through her hair in order to wear it instead of carrying it around. She offered to do the same with Catalina's. She shook her head and laughed. "No. It's fine."

Maria suddenly slapped her leg. "Oh! Now I get it."

Catalina laughed and looked up just in time to see the leader of the band approach them with a glint of merriment about his face. He motioned them to follow them to the makeshift stage. Much to the entertainment of the throng, he led them through the choreography that he and his little group had for their original song. Catalina's life was mostly lived in her head, and any outward expression of those fantasies was severely limited. But in honor of the occasion, she laughed and danced along with her friends. More people joined in and their little corner of the courtyard was filled with pairs moving about the yard. After this grand little finale, the musicians took a break, and the girls continued their wandering.

"Hey, let's go see your brother," Amelia suggested.

Catalina looked with some apprehension toward the field where the tents were lined up. It was a place of knights, squires, pages, and horses. It was sacred ground in a masculine world that she knew she was no part of. To venture among them would have been like trespassing. It was no place for them. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on. We may even see some of the other knights," Maria said suggestively.

"Yeah, Catalina. We may even see the Green Knight," Amelia added.

Catalina shook her head. "You won't find him among the others. If you wish to see _him_, he's over there," she said nodding slightly behind her and to the left.

They both looked in the direction she indicated and saw him sulking against a wall. "How'd you know he was there?" Amelia asked.

She shrugged. "Saw him about ten minutes ago."

Maria laughed. "You best be careful. People will think you're a witch."

Catalina rolled her eyes. She wasn't a witch. She just noticed things, that's all. She found herself growing more and more uncomfortable. "Would you stop staring? You're only going to get us in trouble."

"Catalina, _everybody_'s staring at him. You think he hasn't noticed already?" Maria replied.

Catalina shrugged sneaking a glance over her shoulder at the man who was watching the crowd with a dark penetrating stare. "I wonder who or what he's looking for."

"You know he's looking for you," Amelia said sarcastically.

"Leave me alone. I was serious."

"Bit dramatic, isn't he? What makes you think he's looking for someone?" Amelia asked.

"He's certainly not here to enjoy himself," Maria answered.

"Exactly. Look at him," Catalina replied.

"You told us not to," Maria added, teasing her friend.

"He's miserable," Catalina added softly.

"Miserable? Why would anyone be miserable today of all days?" Amelia said adding her voice of wisdom to the situation. Catalina just shrugged. "He's not miserable, Catalina. He's just evil."

"Yeah, I guess." Catalina shook her musings from her mind. Her friends were right. "At least he's out here where everybody can see and him and not committing some dark deed. . . . Come on. Let's go."

"Go? Go where?" Maria asked at her friend's vague comment. They had just been discussing where to go next and had not reached a consensus.

"I don't know. Away from here."

"Okay, fine," Maria said beginning to walk away. "But next time he shows up you've got to let us know."

"You mean like a signal?" Catalina asked.

"Sure. Like a word or gesture," Maria explained.

Catalina laughed. "Jump up and down and wave my arms in the air?"

"That's subtle. He'll never notice that," Amelia added sarcastically.

"Well, what did _you_ have in mind?" Catalina asked with a chuckle. The girls then began to throw out suggestions for different code words or signals to let each other know if the Green Knight had slipped into their line of sight—each suggestion becoming slightly more ridiculous than the previous one. They entered their bedroom laughing.

"I see you had a good time," Catalina's mother said with a smile. "Was he handsome?" she asked with a knowing smile nodding at the flower still in Catalina's hand.

"Not as handsome as the knight who gave Amelia hers."

"Yeah, and mine came from the dummy who can fight," Maria added with a grimace.

"Hey, don't talk about Catalina's brother that way," Amelia added pretending to be offended. Then all of them burst out laughing.

Lady del Mau just shook her head at the girls. "I'll leave you girls to it then. Don't stay up too late. We'll have a long day again tomorrow."

Catalina's mother left, and the girls dressed for bed continuing their scheming. "So, Catalina, do you think your brother will win?" Amelia asked.

"Lord no. The Green Knight will flatten him. Even the Red and Yellow Knight. I think one of those will win."

"I don't think you give your brother enough credit. But what about the Red Knight from Castille? He's famous. And I hear the Knight of Navarre is here. He and his brother are supposed to be pretty talented as well."

"And the Black and White Knight from the shrine of Santiago de Campostella," Maria added casting her vote.

"Who's he? I haven't seen him," Catalina asked with a yawn leaning back on her pillows.

"He's a warrior priest and supposed to be a gifted combatant and the head of his order. My uncle thinks he has a pretty good chance of winning. He's a cousin of the King of Leon."

"Hmm, maybe. But my money's still on the Terror of Leon."

"If Prince Tristan were here, he'd best all of them," Amelia added.

The three of them laughed again and blew out the lights. They tried to listen to Lady del Mau's advice and go to sleep, but Catalina was unable to as much as she tried even though she could hear the regular breathing of her friends. In fact, excited as she was by current events, the first few rays of morning had begun to pierce the night sky before Catalina was able to fall asleep.

Don Ernesto moved the lure in circular motions about his head as he trained one of the king's birds of prey while Philippe stood by and watched. He knew he should have been praising Ernesto on the falcon's skill, but all he could think of were memories of hunting with Tristan. His son was the hunter—not him. Matias saw him and approached him cautiously.

"What is it, Soledad?" Philippe asked.

"Temple. Do you believe him? You really think he has heard nothing?"

The king sighed. "I have no choice. I have a few squires that I have appointed to be sure he has all the comforts of home. He is too lack nothing. I also told them to keep an eye and ear close to him to see if he knows anything he's not saying."

"I know. I heard, but . . .," he sighed. "I don't trust him."

"Francisco does."

"Then he's a fool!"

"Matias . . ."

"No. He's been out to destroy you for as long as he can remember. You remember that day in the field? I do. He was five years old. He attacked you then and has been fighting you ever since. He may have been friends with Francisco once, but that was a long time ago, and I don't think he cares one whit what his king says now."

"I'm afraid all we can do is wait. I've sent riders to find Tristan, and I've also sent messengers to Francisco. He's sent riders to find Tristan too. He is suspicious of Temple as well, but Francisco has no proof either. _Him _I trust. We'll find Tristan. And until we know the truth, we have to tolerate our Green Knight. At least he seems to be keeping to himself and behaving."

"All the more reason to be suspicious of him. He never behaves for your benefit."

Philippe sighed. "I know. It's the reason I think Tristan may already be dead."

"Why is that?"

"Francisco said in his latest message that after the tournament, Temple plans on rebuilding his home and living there with his wife and children. You don't just wake up one morning tired of revenge. He must have killed Tristan as his revenge on me, came to the tournament to compete and finish off de Roig, and then will go home and move on with his life."

"And that is the only reason I think Tristan may still be alive," Matias replied.

"I don't understand."

"If his intention was to complete his revenge on you by killing Tristan, _you would know it_. He would have left his body where you would be sure to find it, and you would know _he_ did it."

"Maybe he's waiting for after the tournament."

"If he waits until _after_ the tournament—after the treaty is signed, there will be no going home for him."

Philippe thought for a moment. "You're right, Matias. Thank you. That does give me some hope."

"I also took the liberty of having de Roig followed. I know Temple is your primary concern, but I thought . . ."

"No, it's a good idea. . . . How many times has Leonore asked you about news of Tristan?"

"More than I can count, Sire."

"Have you told her anything?"

"No. I have done as you asked. But she knows something's wrong."

"I know. We should know something in a few days."

"Speaking of Leonore," Soledad said nodding toward the entrance of the courtyard. Leonore along with her attendants were making their way to them.

Philippe smiled. "What can I do for you, My Lady?"

"Your Majesty, is there news of my husband?" she asked.

"No. There is none."

"Perhaps we could send messengers . . ."

"Princess, we have done all we can. As soon as anyone has any news, believe me, we shall be the first to know. Now, we should go and prepare ourselves. The knights begin their sport today, and you and I will preside. Chancellor, will you act as marshal for us until Tristan arrives?"

"Absolutely," Matias replied with a slight bow of his head.

Catalina and her crew waited outside the arena for her parents and younger brother. She let Amelia and Maria have the two available seats while she stood facing them. She was in the middle of telling them a story about one of her older brother's exploits when something from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Without missing a beat in her tale, she stomped Maria's foot. "Ow! What was that for?" Catalina seemed oblivious to her remark. She continued her story but turned to look to her right and then back at Maria's eyes. Maria gave her a confused look but followed her gaze where she saw the Green Knight arrive with his retinue. Catalina never stopped, paused, or even changed her tone while the Green Knight passed right behind her. Once she completed her story and he was long since out of earshot, she grinned. "How was that? Subtle enough?"

Philippe arrived at the dais to find Leonore and Matias in private conversation. Horrified that his chancellor was telling the princess their suspicions, he looked to his Chancellor hoping for an explanation. "Sire, I am at a loss. Your son the prince had prepared an exhibition for you."

"Oh, yes," Leonore continued. "It was to be a surprise. They have worked so hard and for so long, and with our beloved still absent. . . ."

Philippe smiled in relief. "Well, then let us see this display. I am sure our guests will also enjoy the entertainment." The Chancellor signaled the heralds who called forth the captain of the guard along with his men, all wearing the colors of the prince. The king, princess, and chancellor along with the guests that had already arrived watched the presentation of Tristan's men as they demonstrated the skills of the riders as well as those of the horses. The company bowed to the king who returned their courtesy with applause. "How well they ride. My son would have been very pleased with their display," Philippe said.

"And what—save grievous harm or treachery—could keep him still absent?" Leonore pleaded. In desperation, she threw herself at her father-in-law's feet. "Oh, Father, let us away to the gates and there send a second party to horse and aid in the search."

"To this throne will all tidings come when they are known," Philippe said in frustration. He had sent search parties to find Tristan. Francisco had sent search parties to find Tristan, yet no trace of the prince had been found. The look on her face, however, shattered his frustration, and he felt guilty for his outburst. "Yet, if your heart will profit from this double search, then I shall seek out the captain of the guard and see that it is done," he said taking her hand and guiding her from the floor. He left the dais in order to fulfill her request.

"In ten day's time," she said to herself. "_He promised._ In ten day's time." She thought about the night that he left. He had seemed so confident about the peace with Leon, so assured that he would return safely. Something _must_ have happened. He must have suffered from some treachery. The king must have been betrayed, perhaps by Leon himself. If so, what had happened to Tristan? _Where was he?_

"It is done, Good Lady," the king said upon returning. "The search redoubled. Riders dispatched anew."

"But, Your Majesty, not even one herald or guard has returned with word. I fear the hand of the King of Leon turns in this."

"No. The King of Leon and I have come to terms. The visit by my son and the signing of the treaty but a formality. Fear not, Dear Child, all will be well. Let us once again greet the knights." The King leaned over the railing of the dais in order to address his people. "My Lords, My Ladies, have you come to see sport?"

Catalina watched the knights as they played their games, competing for a chance to enter the actual tournament. She and her friends cheered for her brother, waving their blue banners, but they cheered the other favorites they had found as well. The Red and Yellow Knight from the county of Perelada was one. Due to his height, he was easily spotted in the crowd. They had known that the Yellow Knight of Navarre had a brother, but during these games they discovered that this brother was a twin. The Yellow Knight's squire had run by Catalina, and thinking that he was the Yellow Knight himself, she wondered why he was not with the others. She turned to look at the rest of the knights. Yes, she had been right; all the knights were all on the other end of the field. But then, she saw the same man whom she had just seen go by with the rest of the knights. He couldn't be over there. He had just run by headed in the opposite direction. Then she realized she had spotted twins. The two were identical except one had facial hair that was slightly more manicured than the other. They cheered him on as well. The Green Knight of Leon also did not disappoint. They found it difficult to boo him even knowing of his deeds. They did, however, find one fault in him. "Why is he wearing that thing on his head?" Amelia asked.

"The chainmail coif? I know. He has nice hair. How dare he hide it. The nerve of some people," Catalina replied with a grin.

The first game was complete and Soledad awarded the victors of the game. He seemed very displeased to announce the Green Knight as one of their number.

The second game began, and knights began galloping down the field tossing flags to each other. As the Green Knight reached the end, he slowed his large black horse. The young knight with whom he was paired didn't seem to know that they had stopped, and he tossed his flag back at the Green Knight. It hit him and slid to the ground. "What the hell was he doing?" he called out to Soledad. "I better have still won that one!"

Soledad looked back at Philippe who gave him a nod. "The winners of this game are the Red and Yellow Knight, the Blue Knight, the Yellow Knight, the Black and White Knight, the Red Knight, and . . . the Green Knight."

The games continued until the infamous small joust ring—the most difficult of them all. Very few succeeded. The Green Knight, of course, was one of them. He slid his lance to the ground and pulled off the ring. Everyone around Catalina booed him, but he just grinned. "That was pretty good, huh? You want it?" he asked offering the ring to one of his aggressors. He tossed it to his squire and laughed as he rode away. Soledad was about to announce the winners of that game when the princess interrupted him.

"Wait, Lord Chancellor, they have all ridden so skillfully. Summon them all to me."

"Very well, My Lady," the chancellor then listed all the knights who had competed. Those who watched the games cheered for their heroes. After a final cheer, they were dismissed to prepare for the tournament.

Catalina and her friends made their way through the crowd until she found her brother. "Hey, Cat!"

She rolled her eyes. She hated being called the same name as a pretentious feline. "That is _not _my name. I was about to compliment you, but you can forget it now."

He smiled. "I don't need your praise. They'll tally the scores, and you'll see. I'll be competing tomorrow." He then nodded at the man standing next to him. "This is my friend and fellow warrior Eduardo del Rey. This is my sister Cat and her friends."

Eduardo chuckled as Alberto's sister rolled her eyes at him again and nodded in greeting. The girl wasn't looking at him though. Something behind him had caught her attention. He turned and saw the Green Knight leaving the field.

"What are you looking at?" Alberto asked her.

"_He_ doesn't have any friends, does he?" Catalina asked with a pensive expression.

"What?" Alberto asked confused.

"Nothing."

"Oh God, don't tell me you're like them too," he asked irritated.

"Like what?" Catalina replied innocently.

"I'm sure his wife appreciates all this attention he's getting."

"He's married?"

"Look, cheer for someone else. _Anybody_ else. He's not worth your time or acknowledgment. I don't care how good-looking he is."

"I didn't cheer for him. He's the enemy. Why would I cheer for him?"

Maria interrupted the argument between the siblings, "And you know what—so what if we did?" She had not shied away from cheering for him. "He's not the enemy anymore. Aren't we signing a treaty? Aren't we celebrating peace?"

"An absent treaty," Alberto del Mau added defensively.

"Tristan is delayed. He'll be here soon. You'll see," Maria added, ever the optimist.

"Is he _just delayed_?" Alberto added guardedly.

"I don't know. Why? What do you think?" Catalina asked with much curiosity.

"Just . . . cheer for whomever you want. Just not green."

Leonore had been putting on a brave face for her guests and the others, but just the thought of food was making her ill. She had spent the past several mornings vomiting and she had managed to hide it from the king so far. She knew she was expecting a child, and she wanted Tristan to be the first to know. She needed her husband to be there. And the more time passed without news, the more anxious she became. She knew her father-in-law and Matias were keeping things from her. They thought they were protecting her, but she knew they were losing hope. She also knew the Knight of Leon was being carefully watched. She tried not to let his presence bother her, but his arrogant smirk and knowing eyes made her blood run cold. The man radiated evil. She was glad he never attended the banquets. His presence made her very uncomfortable. He knew where her husband was. She was sure of it. For now, she stood on the wall of the city looking in vain for the white banners of her husband to appear coming from across the plain.

Catalina and her friends had run to their room to freshen up before returning to the field. "Yeah, he was trying to have a conversation with me. He was looking at me like he expected me to say something, but I wasn't staying around to talk." Amelia said recounting the "conversation" with the Yellow Knight who hadn't said a word as he stood by her brother, but neither had Amelia. She had grinned and nodded along during the conversation, but she was by no means gregarious. Catalina and Maria did not comment on the "conversation" which for them was nothing more than a routine and polite exchange with del Rey seeming to have any preference for any of them in particular—or them in comparison to anybody else for that matter. They were halfway down the hall when Catalina almost swore but stopped herself. "What?" Amelia asked.

"I forgot something. Go ahead. I'll catch up." Catalina ran back to her room and grabbed her blue cheering banner and rushed out to them. As she hurried around the corner, she tripped and almost fell into the Green Knight. He stared down at her coldly while she was struck dumb.

"Catalina!" she heard. She turned and saw Esteban was calling out to her. "Catalina! We're over here! Hurry, it's starting!"

She took one last look at the Green Knight. "Sorry," she said softly and went to join her family and friends.

Soledad rode out on to the field to announce who would be competing in tournament. All cheered at his arrival, and he bowed slightly at their acknowledgement. "My Lords, My Ladies, here is peace long awaited indeed and a celebration to rival the great days past. So, I say to you, how shall you cheer the heroes that have come this day to toil in honor of your kingdoms? Give me your voices!" Catalina cheered with her family. She knew that her brother had fared well in the games, and she had confidence that he would do well in the tournament also even if she was doubtful that he would win. "Aye, it is well enough," Soledad chuckled. "Yet I will warrant that you will find your true voices as we welcome the knights of the realm."

Matias then proceeded to introduce those who qualified to make it to the next round of competition. "Undaunted. Solid. Immovable. In defense, he is a rock. In attack, he is the lion uncaged. Let the ring of steel herald his arrival and the frightening smoke of battle linger in his wake, for a legend of the realm walks among us. And he is del Rey of Navarre, the Yellow Knight!" The twin with the manicured facial hair rode out, and Amelia gave him a wink. The quiet man grinned and blushed slightly. Soledad waited for him to find his place and began introducing the next contestant.

"The Predator. Militant in his pride. His blood will not be cooled. His vengeance not postponed for those that would bring war and unquiet to the naked and the defenseless. I say to you take heart. A giant approaches. Del Mau of Valiente, the Blue Knight!"

Catalina chuckled. "_A giant approache_s?" she whispered to Amelia. They both laughed. They knew her brother was probably the shortest knight there. "Oh, he's not gonna live that one down."

Matias continued, "In prayer, humble. In service, loyal. In battle, invincible. He brings light where before there was only darkness. Doomed and destined to be mightiest in skill among an order of warrior priests whose arrival upon the field brings despair to the impure of heart. Greet the virtuous. Greet Santa Creu, the Black and White Knight!" The Black and White Knight rode out to cheers from his people. He had received little attention from the girls with the exception of Maria. He was more lanky than the others and had brown curly hair. No one argued that he wasn't a gifted knight, but in the presence of the others, he almost went unnoticed.

Matias began the next introduction. "Stealth. The creeping panther. The flashing lance seen by thieves of treasure or pretenders to thrones. Defeat and regret have been the reward of the countless challengers who have offered their honor and shield to the point of his lance. Behold, the unbending hunter! Del Font of Perelada, the Red and Yellow Knight!" The tall, blond haired knight rode onto the field saluting the others before finding his place.

"Bold, bold captain! Set him at liberty and paralyze the enemy. The sword is his scepter—victory his throne. With little pleasure do the ambitious see the banner of Castilla hanging in the lists. Let the tortured lament of evil doers echo into eternity. For they have met and been vanquished by de Roig, the Red Knight!" The Red Knight then rode out. He too had received little attention. He seemed older than the others, but the lion rampant on his shield was appropriate. His light brown hair was long and resembled the mane of a lion.

Soledad then paused before he continued. "I pray you, hold me blameless in this. For on a shield emblazoned such as his have many of your sons and fathers been brought from the field of battle. Oh, that I were bound in chains, my voice stilled rather than pay homage to such as he that I need now salute. He is destined to violence, condemned to besiege all that is peace and serenity. His sword steel without pity. His temper is the dragon's claw! I sue for pardon and call upon the Terror of Leon, the Green Knight!" As the Green Knight rode on to the field, the few supporters from Leon cheered, but they were quickly drowned out by boos from the rest of the crowd. The Green Knight only laughed. The other knights reluctantly returned his salute.

The Chancellor having performed his duty then allowed the princess to speak. Leonore addressed the multitude saying that one of the knights would now bestow upon a lady of the realm the honor of queen of love and beauty. She gave the choice to the victor of the day's games—the Green Knight. Temple ignored the discontent of the crowd and allowed his colors to be tied to his lance. Amelia leaned over and whispered, "He shouldn't have won that one game. If he hadn't . . ."

Catalina had stopped listening. The Green Knight rode over to where she sat, and her breath caught in her throat. He looked at her coldly but motioned for her to stand. She stared blankly at him. Surely he didn't mean what she thought he did. Maria nudged her with her elbow. "Get up," she whispered. Catalina stood on shaky legs. He extended his lance, and she took the colors from the end.

"My Lords and Ladies, raise a cheer for our queen of love and beauty," the chancellor called out. The Green Knight lowered his lance and bowed to her before returning to his place.

At the conclusion of the day's events, Matias deliberately sought out his king so that he might speak with him alone. "Did you see whom he chose?" Soledad asked.

"Yes," Philippe replied absently. "Catalina del Mau." He just shook his head. "Did he think I needed reminding?"

"He certainly appears to be making a statement, Sire."

"Yes. _But what?_ And you didn't help the matter with that introduction of yours."

"The people hate him, Your Majesty. I cannot pretend he is other than what he is, and he didn't seem offended."

"I'm sure he expected such a reception."

"The latest news from Francisco says that's why he kept his children at home."

"Smart of him. Those boys don't need to see this. Although, I'd like to have them here. With his family here, he'd be easier to keep in line."

Soledad shrugged. "But he didn't."

"No, he did not." He sighed. "I would have liked to have met them. And his wife as well."

"Yet another reason why I'm sure he left them at home."

That afternoon, the girls declared themselves on a mission to learn more about the mysterious Green Knight of Leon. They were discussing whom they would press for information when Catalina's younger brother knocked and came in. They immediately stopped their conversation. "What?" Catalina asked annoyed.

"Father told me to come get you. He wants to see you."

She quickly made plans with her friends. They would complete their missions while she spoke with her father. They would then meet back in her room to discuss their results.

Catalina hesitantly entered her parent's room where her father was waiting. "What is it?"

He motioned for her to sit and wait just one moment. He seemed obviously agitated about something. Her mother then walked in just as hesitantly. "Ferdinand? What is it?"

"I admit I am concerned."

"About what?" they almost asked in unison.

"What did you tell him?" he asked seriously, looking intently at Catalina.

She looked at her mother for aid who looked just as confused as she was. "I'm sorry, Father. I don't know what you mean."

"Don Temple, the Green Knight."

"I haven't told him anything."

"Don't lie to me," he said harshly.

"I'm not!" she replied emphatically defending herself and thoroughly confused.

"How did he know your name?"

"I don't know. How do you know he knows my name?"

"You told him."

"I didn't, and why does it matter anyway? What does my name have to do with anything?"

"I want to know what the two of you talked about."

"I have never spoken with him about _anything!"_ she replied frustrated.

"And your name?"

She shrugged helplessly and tried to think of something that might appease her father's insistence concerning the fact that apparently the Green Knight knew who she was even though she couldn't fathom why this would be a problem. "I . . . I almost ran into him today."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"If it was nothing, then tell me."

"No, I mean he didn't _say a word_. I almost tripped over him. Then Esteban called out to me. That's the only way I can think that he may know my name. I swear I have never had a conversation with him longer that to say that I was sorry."

Deep in thought, del Mau finally nodded. "Stay away from him as much as possible, and I don't want you going _anywhere_ alone. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Why? What's wrong?"

"You may return to your room. Goodnight," he replied making his way to the door to open it for her.

Rebelling against his dismissal, she remained rooted to her seat. "No. I want to know what concerns you. What am I supposed to be afraid of? I can't avoid or fight a battle if I don't know my enemy."

"She's right," her mother intervened. "And I must say, I am curious too."

He shrugged. "The fate of another Catalina has me worried. I don't know what Temple's plans are, but if he plans on repeating history, he will be sorely disappointed."

"What other Catalina? What happened to her?" Catalina asked intrigued.

"She was seduced, abandoned with her son, and killed."

"Who was she?"

"Temple's mother, and he blames Philippe for it. He was throwing it back in his face today. I hope that's all he has planned." Catalina thought even more about what her father didn't say than what he actually said. "Just don't trust him."

"I thought he was married."

"Didn't stop his father. I didn't . . . I don't want to worry you needlessly. Just be on your guard, and be flattered," he added with a grin.

"Flattered?"

"Along with the royal family, you will have the best seats at the tournament." She smiled. "Now, go to your room. Your friends are waiting." He hugged her goodnight and watched her as she walked out the door. When the door shut, he let out a long sigh.

"You were there, weren't you?"

He nodded sitting next to her. "It was my first campaign."

"If I ask you a question, will you promise to not be offended?"

"You want to know if I seduced Catalina Temple. If I abandoned her to suffering and death because I was too young and weak to stand up for her. If I was too afraid for my own skin to claim that poor, frightened little boy as my own." He gave her a soft smile. "You want to know if he's mine. But you already know the answer to that, don't you?"

"You understand I had to ask."

"I know. I remember Philippe finding his dirty little form in the snow when he was little. He cried for awhile. Then he was silent—for days even—until we took him to his uncle's."

"Apparently, he hasn't grown out of it."

"Not much anyway. It's hard to believe what that scared little thing has become. Maybe it would have made things simpler if I had just claimed him and brought him back here instead of sending him to that uncle of his in Leon. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe _he_ would have taken the treaty, and Tristan would be here. Maybe this war would've ended long ago."

"Perhaps. But it would have been a lie."

"I would have told him the truth eventually—why I had him, why his father remains hidden. Maybe he would have had less aversion to the man if had grown up around him at least a little bit."

"You know who his father is?"

"We all do."

"Who's 'we'?"

"All the knights who were camped there that winter. We made a pact to keep the truth a secret. And thank God we did, or his poor father would have hell to pay now."

"Do you think Temple knows?"

"I'm not sure, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did."

"Do you think he'd really hurt Catalina? He doesn't seem the type to . . . be very . . . charming."

"He used to be. He was a very different man ten years ago. If he _were_ mine, I'd send her home immediately. Temple's vicious acts are typically directed toward those whom he holds personally responsible for his afflictions. In fact, if he were mine, I would have kept you, Catalina, and Esteban all at home. As it is, I think he has enough on his plate dealing with Philippe and de Roig. Just keep a wary eye on her."

"I will."

Catalina was the first to arrive back at her room. She sat quietly reviewing the information she had been given and tried to decide the best way to deliver it to her friends when the two of them entered together. Catalina forced a smile. "What'd you find out?"

"Nothing," Maria said with a frown. "Uncle Matias wouldn't tell me a thing."

"Nothing? But he's the best source we had."

"Well, he told me basically what we already know. He's married and has two sons. But that's it."

"What about you?" she asked nodding at Amelia.

"Well here's where the real gossip begins: apparently at birth, Carlos Temple was cursed by an evil sorcerer. He seemed to be perfectly normal until age 25 when he was attacked and possessed by demons. He went mad, killing his whole family. He then went on a tear destroying everything in his path. Some have even seen him transform into a dragon, and the beast terrorizes lands on both sides of the border. And he killed de Roig's father. That's why they hate each other."

"That's insane," Catalina asked not believing a thing about him being possessed by demons or having the capability to transform into a mythological beast.

"Well, if you think about it, his heraldry is a dragon," Amelia replied defensively.

"If he killed his whole family, how does he have a wife and children?" Maria asked obviously siding with Catalina.

After thinking for a moment, Catalina sighed. "Maybe there is a shred of truth in this. He does go around killing everything in his path. And the Red Knight does hate him."

"But kill his family?" Maria asked doubtfully.

"With a temper like his, it probably wouldn't take much," Catalina added.

"Another version I heard was that he sold his soul to the devil for ultimate power when he learned that his wife had an affair with de Roig and that his kids weren't his. Then, possessed, he killed them all including de Roig's father. He has been unsuccessful though to kill de Roig because he's under Philippe's protection. Because he found sanctuary with an agent of God, Temple can't touch him. Oh, and his sister is the only person in his family who survived, but that's because she found favor with a bunch of nuns."

"That sounds . . . a little more plausible, I guess," Catalina replied thinking that Amelia had been listening to too many bards telling tall tales about the knight of Leon. The common thread seemed to be that he killed his family and de Roig's father, and Catalina wondered if either of these were true.

"Where did you learn all this?" Maria asked since Amelia seemed to be the most successful in their quest for information—at least in terms of quantity if not quality.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to," she said smiling.

"You didn't . . ." Catalina began. She knew her friend had threatened flirting with the twins until she found her answers. Amelia just shrugged grinning. "He has a sister?" Catalina asked. Her mind was spinning with all this conflicting information—attempting to break it down and put it in categories was becoming increasingly more taxing.

"I guess. Why?"

"My father said he was a bastard. His mother died."

Amelia and Maria both crept forward on the edge of their seats. They didn't realize Catalina had found information as well. "Died? Died how?" Amelia asked.

"I don't know. He just said she was killed and that Temple blames Philippe."

"Something's bothering you," Maria added.

Catalina shrugged. "Her name was Catalina."

"So that's why he chose you?" Amelia asked.

"I guess."

"Well, who's his father?" Maria said adding to the interrogation.

"He didn't say."

"Do you think . . . it's possible, isn't that . . ." Amelia began but was unable to ask.

"You think his father is my father?" Catalina replied, voicing what was on all their minds.

"He knows all this, and well, your name_ is_ Catalina," Amelia continued.

"Maybe named after a lost love?" Maria finished.

"Don't be so dramatic," Catalina answered rolling her eyes. "It was my grandmother's name," but even as she spoke she doubted what she said. It did make some sense, and why was her father so insistent about what Temple had said and how he found out her name? Was he worried about Temple seeking out his long lost family to punish them? "He can't be my brother. He doesn't look anything like us."

"What did his mother look like?" Amelia asked.

"How should I know?" Catalina replied aggravated at the situation in which she found herself. She liked things to fit and make sense, and tonight nothing was.

Hearing their chatter, Catalina's older brother entered without announcing his presence. "Are you still speaking of Temple?" he asked extremely irritated.

"We're just having fun," she said rolling her eyes.

"You should stay away from him. He's an evil man."

"_I know._ We're not following him around or anything. You're just jealous that you have to grow a beard to even look old enough to compete. He's taller than you, more muscled, and is better looking." Annoyed, she stood to escort her brother to the door. "By the way, your tunic is on backwards."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is," she replied giggling with her friends as she pushed him out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

Feeling protective concerning a certain member of his family, Alberto del Mau made his way to the lines of tents. He knew Temple's actions had done nothing to slow his sister's fascination with him. In fact, it had done quite the opposite. He went and found Temple who was sitting outside his tent cleaning his sword preparing for the morrow.

Temple had plans. Tomorrow blood would be spilt. He had behaved long enough. He looked up when del Mau approached, but he paid him no heed. "Leave my sister be," del Mau said firmly. Temple glanced up at him briefly but returned to his task. "You listening to me? I said stay away from her."

Temple stood slowly and deliberately and looked down his nose at the younger, smaller man. "Are you done?"

Del Mau didn't back down. "No. Not until you swear to . . ."

Temple rolled his eyes in frustration. This little man wasn't worth his time. "Look, I'm not here for you or your sister. I had to pick someone, and the girl was just as good as any, and she . . . she reminded me of someone I once knew."

"Who? Mistress of yours? Or maybe just some whore you . . ." Temple grabbed him roughly by the collar and pulled back his sword as if to strike. Del Mau held his breath because it appeared Temple might just kill him, but instead, his muscles relaxed, and he sighed.

He threw del Mau aside. "I've heard her called much worse," he said coldly and walking away. "Alfonso!" he called. A young man ran out of the tent. Temple tossed him his sword. The squire gave del Mau a hard look and followed his master.

Eduardo del Rey witnessed the exchange and along with his brother approached del Mau. "Are you all right?" del Rey asked.

"Yes." Del Mau turned to go to nurse his wounded pride in solitude, but the Yellow Knight stopped him.

"It was his mother's name. His mother was Catalina Temple. She died when Temple was a child." He shrugged. "If it's any consolation."

"He certainly isn't helping my sister's obsession with him."

"Look around. Your sister isn't alone," he replied nodding toward the line of tents where a group of young women stood whispering and nodding at the tent. "They've been watching him the past hour."

Eduardo's brother shook his head at the girls grinning. "He could be the spawn of Satan himself. It wouldn't matter to them."

"For all we know, he could be. Blood as black as coal," Alberto added.

Eduardo shook head. "He's human enough. His blood is as red as ours. You'll see."

Before the start of the tournament, Catalina went and found her father by the edge of the field. He smiled. She had been thinking. He could tell. "Father, I was just wondering. . . . after we talked last night . . ."

"No."

"So you're not? I didn't think so."

"And you asked because—"

"I don't like ambiguity."

"Are you ready for today?"

"Yes. Do you think Alberto—"

"No," he replied with a smile.

"Me either."

"He'll—"

"Put on a good show—"

"Not win though."

"Right."

His smile widened. "And after our talk, you are here alone?"

She put her hands on her hips, and changed her tone to one that was slightly defensive. "I am here with like . . . a thousand of my closest friends." He laughed. "Besides, I am not alone. I'm here with you."

He put his arm around her in a rough hug. "There's my little smart ass. It's good you're here actually. Lord Chancellor Soledad will be here momentarily, and he can escort you to the dais." She shifted nervously. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I just wish I could watch with my friends." She shrugged. "Can't have both though."

"No. Watch out for—"

"I will."

"I'm serious. When the lances break, you'll be close—"

"That's the appeal. I'll be fine."

"Here comes Soledad. I'll see you after the day's events. Be sure and cheer for your brother even if you don't think he'll win."

"I always do."


	14. New Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen **

Francisco continued to receive news from Philippe that there was simply no news, that Tristan was not to be found anywhere. He had continued his own search but to no avail. He tried to hide it from Lady Temple, but he was focusing much of his search efforts on Asturius. Temple had to have done something. There was no other explanation. He was the only man in two kingdoms who had any motive to hurt Tristan, Philippe, or the peace itself. He didn't want Philippe to think ill of him. Perhaps he should have gone to the tournament himself. Instead, he had foolishly sent Temple to act as his representative. He decided to send Philippe a gift to reassure him of his intentions. Before he could do so, a messenger arrived bringing him news from the border. Tristan's retinue had been found.

Aracely had just put her daughter to bed. Unlike her brother Carlos, she had been able to move on with her life. She had married a cousin of the king, a widower with three children already, and she could not have been happier. She just wished her brother would settle down as she had, for his own sake as well as for the sake of his wife and boys. Perhaps then he would find some peace. Her husband knocked softly on the door. "Yes?"

"You have a visitor," he said with a look of confusion on his face. It wasn't evident, but she knew him well enough to see it.

"Who?" she asked wondering who would be here to see _her_ and at such a late hour.

He smiled. "Just come and see." He led her to the great room where King Francisco waited. "I'll leave you two," he said giving his king an understanding nod.

"What's going on?" she asked hesitantly.

"My Lady, I need your help," the king said with a pleading look on his face. "You know Carlos Temple better than anyone. You are the only one who can help me, and time is running out."

"I don't understand," she asked seating herself.

He sat across from her. "I have been in constant communication with King Philippe."

She rolled her eyes. "What has my idiot brother done now?"

"That's just it. I don't know. Tristan was to bring the treaty, but he never arrived. His retinue was found just yesterday butchered near the border. The body of the prince was not found. I believe your brother has hidden him."

She shook her head. "No. He's not that stupid. He wouldn't."

"Look at me," he said seriously. She looked into his eyes. "I don't want to believe it either. But we both know it's the truth. He's not the man we used to know. He's different now: arrogant, angry, and foolish. I haven't told his wife my suspicions, and I won't until I have any proof. She shouldn't be needlessly worried. But you . . . I need your help."

"How can I _possibly _help you? He doesn't talk to me anymore. I know nothing of this."

"No. But you know his favorite haunts—where he used to play as a boy, where he used to hunt with his uncle, where he used to go with Sofia. I need to know where he might have hidden the prince. Please. I know you don't want to risk betraying your brother, but think of Tristan. He may still be alive. Think of the peace."

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Other than Asturius, I don't know."

"We've looked all over Asturius. Every village, every field, every wood. . ."

"What about the fortress itself?"

He shrugged. "That was destroyed."

"There was still one tower standing. There were also several places in the rubble itself—nooks and crannies with space to hide in. We stayed there several days before going to the convent, and we managed to find adequate shelter, not necessarily comfortable but adequate."

"If you had adequate shelter, why did you leave?"

She shrugged helplessly. "One can't eat rock and stone, Sire."

Francisco thought a while about what she had told him. They had passed by the ruin but never really searched it. Temple had a small guard there that they had seen, but no one had found that unusual. He always kept a small detachment there to look after the cemetery. Aracely was right. There was no telling who or what Temple was hiding in that debris. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you."

Francisco himself searched the tower with his men. He had arrived with his knights who escorted a silent and sullen group of men in green livery outside the walls while they searched unhindered. It looked recently inhabited but such a revelation did not satisfy the king. "It doesn't mean anything," he said to his captain of the guard. "I want proof that _Tristan_ was here. Philippe needs some news of his son."

"My Lord!" he heard from outside the tower. He followed the sound outside to a spot near the remains of the outer wall. "This way, Sire." He followed them through the debris—through spaces he could barely fit through—into a room. It was fairly large. He and several of his knights fit very comfortably. The roof had been repaired, and most of the stone wall was still intact.

Its inaccessibility and the way it was skillfully hidden in the debris made it a good hiding place or origin for any covert attack. The king, however, only shrugged. "It's nicer than the tower. This may have been the quarters of Temple himself. But it still doesn't prove anything. I mean, this could just be where he stays when he visits. We need more."

"What about this?" a squire called from a corner of the room. The king walked over to where he held a torch over the hearth. There were scraps of parchment near the edge of the charred remains of a fire. He picked up several and read the few words that each scrap contained until he swore, realizing what he was holding in his hands.

A page whispered something to Matias and handed him a scroll. The king, sitting with the Princess eating their morning meal, saw the exchange. "Chancellor, what have you there?" Philippe asked with a strange mixture of fear and hope.

"A message, Sire." Matias handed the parchment to his king.

"Chancellor, what is written there? Is it news of our beloved?" the princess asked.

Soledad shrugged. Was she not watching? The letter had _just_ been given to him. "A rider, My Lady, magnificently arrayed, has arrived at the gates of the castle with a company of guards and humbly requests entry," he said relaying the information that the page had brought to him.

The king had broken the seal and began reading. "He bears a gift and a message," he said. "Chancellor, command the warden to open the gate." The king walked out with the princess to meet the herald. Several of the nobles were there as well when a rider dressed in the livery of the King of Leon greeted them. Philippe addressed him. "Well met, Herald of Leon, you bear tidings from your king and this gift, and for these, you have my thanks. Yet my guests and I would see the skill of both master and horse if they are willing." The herald then showed the skill of the great white horse. The skill of the animal was unparalleled to anything Philippe had seen. Francisco must have spent a lot of resources having the horse trained. He was a prize worthy of a king. "Say this to the King of Leon. Of a horse I have no need yet upon seeing this beautiful stallion I shall prize him above my greatest treasures. I thank your master the king for this priceless gift." The king nodded a dismissal at the herald.

The princess pulled the king aside. "Your Grace, I can wait no longer. I pray you, this message—is it news of your son, my husband?"

The king could not lie to her—as much as he would have liked to. Choosing his words carefully, he spoke of what the message said concerning his son. "His company was waylaid and cruelly slain. My son, though searched for, is still unfound, yet the King of Leon has uncovered the plot and even now seeks word of his fate; however, the good king has remained allied to our designs for peace."

Her face fell. The princess was hurt and distressed by the news. What if Tristan was dead? What if he was never coming back? She looked away from him. "Great King, it is hope that I see in your eyes, yet this scroll, even if it had been tendered by one of your own heralds, is but a token and no promise that our beloved yet lives or of a return to happiness."

The king patted her hand and tried to offer some encouragement. "And yet, Sweet Child, this token may bode well for both. Let those who wear heavily these crowns chart the course for whom they serve. For now, cast off worry. Instead take heed of our guests, and welcome their champions to the tournament."

Thus patronized, the princess left to return to the dais. Soledad approached the king. "You said he had uncovered the plot. What _aren't_ you saying?"

"Temple," he said softly.

"He's hidden Tristan away?" He nodded. "Shall I have him arrested?"

"No. Tristan hasn't been found. If we arrest him, he'll die before he tells us the location of my son. And his minions would gladly kill him if anything happened to their master. He can't know that we know anything. Not until we find Tristan. But you know, send for him. I want to speak to him before the tournament starts."

Francisco watched from the battlements as Temple's wife played with her children. He had to tell her. He had to tell her everything, but he didn't want to. He hated Temple more and more for doing this to him. And to them too. He waited for her to put the boys to bed and knocked softly on her door. "Come in." He walked in to find her already in bed. She was shocked to see him. She sat up trying to find a more suitable position in which to address her king. "Forgive me, Sire. I didn't expect _you_."

"It's all right. _I_ should ask forgiveness. I came at a bad time, and I bring bad news."

"I can," she began while trying to slip from the bed.

"No, no," he interrupted. "Please. For your sake and the child's, rest. I can come back if I need to. I just . . . I wanted to speak to you alone."

She understood by the gravity of his voice that the situation—whatever it was—was serious, serious and secret. "Then speak, My Lord. Is it my husband?"

He saw the concerned look on her face and looked away. "Yes."

"Is he all right?" He didn't answer, and she knew she had misunderstood. "What has he done?" He took the scraps of parchment he had found at the ruins and handed them to her. "What are these? I cannot read, Sire," she said.

"Philippe's treaty—the treaty he sent by Tristan."

"It was burned?" He nodded. "Where did you find them?" she asked with a tremor in her voice.

"Asturius."

She shrank back from the charred remains of the treaty and instinctively put an arm protectively around her unborn child. "What happens now?"

"I have sent Philippe word of what I know. I'm still waiting for word from him on what he plans to do. I have had Temple's men who remained at Asturius detained and questioned. I've searched the rest of the rubble looking for Tristan. He has yet to be found—alive or dead."

She punched the mattress in frustration. "Why?! What exactly does he think he's going to accomplish?"

"Philippe killed his son. He's paying him back in kind."

"But . . ." She thought about what Temple had said about his father, and his actions made less and less sense. He had either lied or not told her the whole truth. Probably a combination of both. And she didn't know if Francisco knew, and she wasn't sure now was the time to betray her husband's confidence. He was in enough trouble already.

"But what?"

"Nothing. . . . It's just . . . _Why?_ What good will any of this do him if he ends up dead in the process? Philippe and his knights aren't going to let him walk away from this. He left here knowing he was going to his death."

Francisco saw the tears forming in her eyes, and he was angry at himself. He also knew that she thought that everything Temple told her when he left was a lie. "No. No, I think when he said he planned on rebuilding Asturius, he meant it. I have no idea what he was thinking, but I think he planned on living through this tournament. I don't know what his plans are. Tristan may not be dead. If he isn't, maybe Philippe will show him some mercy."

"Will you?"

He shrugged. "I cannot let him go unpunished. But I won't do anything that will hurt you. Or the boys. And if you want him alive, I'll do whatever I can."

"Sire," Temple said coldly with a bow.

Philippe stared at the man and waited a moment. Temple wasn't dressed for tournament. His posture wasn't relaxed. His face was set. There was no joyous celebration dancing around his eyes. He was dressed and ready for war. "Tristan's retinue was found dead. My son, the prince, has yet to be found."

"Is that right?" he asked disinterested.

"You can still walk away from this."

Temple intently met his gaze. "I plan to."

"If Tristan is alive, send him home. All will be forgiven. No more need die."

Temple raised his head higher. "I don't know what you mean."

Unwilling to push him too far, Philippe shrugged helplessly. "So be it."

The king turned but Temple reached out and grabbed his arm preventing his departure. "I will tell you what I do know," he hissed sharply.

"What is that, Green Knight?" Philippe asked apprehensively.

"You have no hope of seeing your son again unless I am given what I am due."

"And what is that, Sir Knight?"

"What I should have been given ten years ago." With that, Temple shoved him aside and turned to go.

Soledad materialized from the shadows, and the two men watched him as he walked back down the hall. "Is that as good as a confession?"

"No. He didn't call Tristan by name, did he?" Soledad shook his head. "All right, there's no way he will win this tournament so let's stop senseless bloodshed. We are going to keep him out of combat as much as possible without drawing suspicion. He knows I'm suspicious, but I didn't tell him we have proof, and we haven't arrested him so if Tristan is alive, he should remain safe."

"He'll want to fight."

"We'll just have to figure out a way to stop him. At least having the tournament here instead of Leon makes him outnumbered."

"We'll do what we can."

"I just wanted to give him one last chance."

"And he refused. So whatever happens now, it won't be your fault."

"I know. I know. . . ."

Catalina del Mau sat in a shadowy corner of the dais and watched as the princess stood and introduced the Knights of the Realm before they began to compete in the tournament. "Gentle Nobles, I raise my cup to our great company as they take the field to fulfill their oath. Neither dread nor defeat will shake the unshakeable. Come forth, Brave Navarre," the princess continued in her introduction of the six knights who would compete. Lastly, she began to introduce the Green Knight of Leon. "And to the king though once our enemy, now the guardian of hope and great treasure and to his champion, the Green Knight."

The knights paraded their colors across the field. As they took their places, the king addressed the heroes of the realm. "My Brave Lords, the coming of the test of arms was to mark a great day in our reign and in the lives of our kinsmen, yet without the hope of the return of my son a shadow has been cast upon my heart. . . . Let the combat go forth. For by the right of chivalry and the passage of arms, are both peace and war the dominion of kings, and _kings alone,_" he added while looking at Temple. "Chancellor, would you serve as Lord Marshall and govern the tournament?"

"In the absence of your son the prince, Your Majesty, I shall be honored. Noble Captains, who among you seeks the honor of the first challenge?"

Several knights raised their lances to claim the first battle. Catalina had barely noticed this though. Because as the chancellor spoke, Temple removed his helmet. He adjusted his chainmail coif and belt and prepared himself. As the chancellor finished, Temple drew his sword and rode out to the middle of the arena. "None in this company can match lance or sword with me, yet name them one, or one and all, and I will destroy them in turn." As he spoke, he made his way to de Roig who was also removing his helmet. He would not be content to let the Green Knight challenge anyone else but him. The past few days the hate between him and the Red Knight was evident, and neither was willing to keep it in check any longer.

Their swords clanged together, and Philippe jumped up. "Enough! My Lord of Leon, you will withdraw your sword! I command it." Temple obeyed, but he glared at the Red Knight who returned his stare. Philippe sighed. If he said anything now, Temple would know that he knew, and Tristan was doomed. And no one could deny that de Roig had volunteered. He also knew that this battle was meant to take place, and it was long overdue. He was actually surprised that Temple had allowed de Roig to live this long. He swallowed hard and met the gaze of his chancellor. "The remainder of the knights will retire from the field."

Soledad nodded. "Take your places, My Lords." Temple retired to the corner where his faithful were. De Roig took his position at the opposite end of the field. "Knights, speed of horse!"

All in attendance seemed to cheer for the Red Knight. None wanted Temple to succeed. There were a few moments when it seemed de Roig had the advantage, but Temple always came back stronger. Philippe watched those moments with a divided heart. On the one hand, he wanted de Roig to win. It would save him from a tough decision. On the other hand, it was never his intention to be responsible for the death of yet another Temple. And if something were to happen to him, what of Tristan? They would never find him.

Just a few feet away, Catalina del Mau eagerly watched the Green Knight. He had promised to be a man of skill, and he lived up to his reputation. The battle was tense. After a few minutes, she watched as de Roig raised his sword, but Temple was quicker and struck his opponent in the back. The Red Knight stumbled slightly, but Temple showed no mercy. He had no time to surrender or yield before Temple quickly swung around and hit him again. She gasped as he fell. _He killed him?_ This was supposed to be a time to celebrate, and _he killed him_. She had just watched a man die because one knight seemed to not understand why they were gathered there. Her brother was correct in his assessment. The man wasn't right. He was an enemy to peace.

The Green Knight stood frozen on the field. Squires in red hurried to remove the body from his feet. Temple finally moved and spit. He looked briefly over his shoulder and stared darkly at the crowds who were protesting his victory. Head held high, he approached the dais and knelt before Philippe. As much as the king had hoped that Temple would surprise him, he had watched the combat knowing how it would end. De Roig should have expected it as well. They all should have. Philippe stood slowly. By right of custom, Temple should fight again, but Philippe could not allow Temple to face another of his knights. He'd kill them all one by one—just as he probably had his son. He just needed more time to find Tristan. He cleared his throat and spoke above the complaints of his people.

"Green Knight, your prowess in arms has served you well. Rise and hear your people cheer." Temple stood and held up his arms in triumph. The few supporters from Leon cheered, but they were quickly drowned out by boos. Temple only smirked at their disapproval. Philippe found talking over them difficult. "You have my leave to retire and see that you are prepared for your next opponent."

Philippe watched his grin fade and brow furrow in confusion. He knew he was being dismissed. The aggravation and even arrogance in his voice was easily heard over the crowd. "Send another against me. Now! As victor, it is my right."

Despite the Green Knight's request, Philippe stood his ground. "Your reputation is well known to me, yet to defeat my knights fighting one and then the other without rest? You will not do. Even if the gods of war had made you thrice greater than you are. _I am king here_. Take your leave of me. Chancellor, to your office."

Seeing he had no choice, the Green Knight gave Philippe an obviously sarcastic bow. He stood and raised his sword one last time in the direction of his people who cheered as he left the field.

Lord Chancellor Soledad ignored him and continued with his duty. "Attend us, My Lord of Perelada and Santa Creu."

Tristan groaned and rolled over. He suffered a swift kick to the ribs for the noise. He was still bound and gagged. They had even blindfolded him although it was unnecessary. He knew where he was. He could hear the cheers from the lists. They seemed distant, but he could hear them well enough to know what they were. He had not seen his captor since he burned the treaty, but his minions guarded him constantly. Their purpose seemed to be limited to keeping him fed and keeping him quiet. Late at night, they allowed him a brief stroll through the trees to stretch his legs. He could see lights in the distance and knew that the revelry was lasting well into the night, but he was no part of it. There was no escape from these vigilant squires even in the darkness. He just needed to bide his time until he figured out what their plans for him were. As long as he drew breath, there was hope for him.

Catalina had watched the two bicolor knights battle with little interest. She was still disturbed over the scene she had just witnessed: the Red Knight lying very still with the Green Knight standing over him. The joust had been thrilling even though she barely saw it. The Black and White Knight had struck true, and the Red and Yellow Knight had tumbled into the dirt. "Well struck, My Lord, dismount and continue this combat on foot," the chancellor had said. She continued to mostly pretend to watch as the curly headed knight fought the one that her brother had called the giant. Much to her astonishment, the large, blond knight fell to the sword of the Black and White Knight. She realized then that maybe Maria was right to call him gifted. She certainly hoped that her prediction of the Green Knight winning was wrong. She now understood the disgust her brother and his friends felt toward him. Their loathing could not be softened by a pretty face, and they were the ones that were right. She sincerely hoped that when he fought again that whoever faced him would defeat him and send him on his way. She forced herself to pay attention to this fight as the victor knelt before the king.

Philippe addressed him, "Well fought, My Lord. Rise to the cheers of your people!" He stood, and everyone cheered for him even those not of his realm. The Red and Yellow Knight had been helped to his feet and stumbled off the field, but he wasn't dead. The Black and White Knight had reminded everyone that this was, in fact, a friendly competition. This sport was certainly dangerous, and accidents did happen, but "fight to the death" was almost a misnomer. With Santa Creu's victory, the celebratory atmosphere returned, and Philippe stood on the dais. "My Lords, My Ladies, the day has been long and too much excitement will dull our minds and her hearts. Let us retire for this day and return on the morrow where our test of arms will continue."

Everyone cheered at his proposal. "Retire" simply meant return to feast and merriment. Catalina hurried from the dais to her friends. The three of them all began speaking at once. All three were shocked at the Green Knight's behavior.

They all had gone to find Catalina's mother. She smiled upon seeing them. "How was the tournament?" she asked. She was not one for sport. She could not stand the thought of watching her son compete that way and so had remained behind as always.

Esteban quickly told her all that had transpired. Seeing by her expression that his explanation left much to be desired, he recruited Catalina to help him give a demonstration. "I'm Green! I'm Green," he insisted and then he gave her explicit instructions and became quite irritated if she did not follow them through to the letter. Finally, Catalina spun dramatically and fell to the floor. She tried not to laugh as she lay there pretending to be dead.

Maria, also amused at this spectacle, took it upon herself to play the part of the king, and she called out, "Green Knight! What did you do?!"

Esteban in his deepest voice exclaimed, "Send another to fight me! Now! I won so I want to fight someone else!"

Lady del Mau was trying to hide a smile as she looked at Esteban and asked, "And what did the king tell him?"

"He wouldn't let him fight anyone else, and he sent him away."

"Well, that was good of him. The rest of you need to wash up." Esteban scampered off, and Lady del Mau stopped her daughter at the door. "Is it true? Did he kill him?" Catalina nodded. "Pity. It's a shame that this celebration will be forever marred by that man's death. Oh well. There's nothing to be done now but prepare for tomorrow. You are behaving yourself just as promised?"

"How can I get into any trouble sitting next to the king?"

"True. Have fun tomorrow."

All had arrived, and Soledad stood waiting for instructions. "Chancellor, the time has come when we must once again test the mettle of this Black and White Knight," Philippe said. He had bought himself another day to find Tristan but was unsuccessful. Time was becoming the most precious thing he had, and he was quickly running out of it.

"Squires! A charger for the Black and White Knight," Soledad called. The Knight nodded and went to retrieve his horse from his squire. "Your Majesty, the Green Knight is impatient to once again test his courage against the field. Shall I call him forward?"

The supporters from Leon erupted in applause to see their champion. Philippe turned toward the small group and called out angrily, "I am king here! And I shall decide who fights _and when_. To allow him to take the field once again does not fit my plans nor does it yet serve my purpose. _Let him wait."_

"Then, Your Majesty, the Blue Knight shall come forth to measure his strength."

Still stained with the blood of de Roig, Temple paced fitfully. He had sent Alfonso to Soledad and was awaiting his return. He could hear the cheers and groans from the field as the faithful supported their heroes. It angered him that it was not him out there. Philippe was again showing himself to be a man of little worth or honor by not giving him what was his. Philippe was denying him his rightful place as he had always done. Why had Philippe even allowed him to come if he was too afraid for his knights to let him compete? He was glad that he had brought his little insurance policy. An eye for an eye. He looked up in time to see Alfonso returning. "Well?" he asked. The squire shook his head. Temple's frustration reached its full. He threw his helmet and a few other things that weren't nailed down. His squires remained a respectful and safe distance away.

"What will you have us do?" Alfonso asked.

Temple looked up and directly at one of Philippe's squires who had been in his shadow the past few days. He knew he was there keeping an eye on him. The young man stared at the ground as he lurked in the shadows trying to avoid the Green Knight's stare. "Do you have all prepared as I have already told you?"

"We are ready to do your will, My Lord."

Temple reached down and picked up his sword, but his eyes never Philippe's spy as he continued. "Be watchful. Be smart. And await my signal."

Del Mau and Santa Creu had taken their places on the field. Soledad addressed them, "My Lords, you will meet on horseback and wield the lance. The victor shall take up weapons of his choice. Your lives hang in the balance. Lower your lances to seal the challenge." They did so. "It is done. Take your places, My Lords, and prepare to fulfill your oath."

Catalina had almost forgotten Temple's violence as she watched her brother do battle with the Black and White Knight. She cheered him on as he wielded his long axe. She had predicted that her brother would do well, and he did not disappoint. Del Mau defeated the gifted Black and White Knight. The King spoke, "My Lord, Blue Knight, once again a great victory brings honor to your noble house. Stand and hear your victor's cheer."

Matias reached out and shook his hand. "Well fought, My Lord."

The people were happy and cheering, eager for the next challenge, but Philippe still needed to stall as much as possible. He had to keep Temple out of the arena. They hadn't found Tristan yet. "Chancellor, we shall all retire and meet again tomorrow where our Blue Knight shall challenge the Yellow Knight."

All again accepted the dismissal with pleasure from their king. After all, it only meant another day of revelry and tournament. The princess had retired early, but Philippe feasted at the banquet with the others. They seemed happy enough now, but he knew he couldn't delay any longer. Del Mau would have to fight del Rey on the morrow. After that, he would be out of knights. He would have to let Temple fight. If only they could find Tristan, he could have Temple arrested and spare the lives of those whom Temple would face. He would kill them all if given the opportunity. A servant secretly approached and pretended to fill his king's goblet. "Luis wishes a word with you, Sire," he whispered.

Philippe turned to see his squire that he had placed in charge of Temple's movements waiting on him in the shadows. "Thank you." He stood as slowly and as unobtrusively as he could manage and made his way over to his young informant. "Have you news?"

"He's planning something."

"We knew that. We need details."

"A few of his squires have disappeared. We heard him say to await his signal. I don't know what that is, what he's plotting, or when it will happen, but it is imminent."

Philippe looked down the banquet hall and did not see him—not that he really expected to. "Where is he now?"

"He's sitting out in the open outside his tent. He appears to be writing letters."

"That's suspicious in itself, is it not?"

"It does appear that he _wants_ to be seen."

Philippe sighed and shrugged. "Just keep an eye on him. And try and find those missing squires of his."

Philippe found himself distracted as his last two knights competed. He was not moved even though the fight was filled with drama. Del Mau was unseated in the joust, but as del Rey rode toward him to finish him, the Blue Knight picked up a lance and knocked him off his horse as well. Such a move seemed to bode well for the Blue Knight, but Catalina had been right. It was not to be. Del Mau found himself yielding to the prowess of the Yellow Knight.

With a heavy heart, Philippe addressed the victor, "My Lord Yellow Knight, your victory was won with strength and with courage. Well fought, My Lord. Now, rise and hear the cheers of your kingdom." Philippe had barely finished his sentence when he leapt from his seat. As the Yellow Knight stood, Temple rode onto the field heading straight for him. "Beware!" he called.

"Oh, take heed," the princess added as she also noticed the Green Knight's entrance into the field.

Temple charged him and broke a lance on the Yellow Knight's back. A couple of his squires ran out and restrained the champion. Philippe was beyond exasperated. "Insolence and folly I have born, Green Knight! In like interest did your king and I presume peace, yet alliance or no this I cannot forgive that you of little honor should corrupt this hall of kings!"

The Green Knight turned and faced him. "_Kings?_ Where are your men who no longer have the stomach for war? The privileged first born decay in comfort, you seek peace and remember not the glories of battle, yet I will not surrender the lance nor the sword, for they are my crown and scepter. I am champion here!"

Philippe trembled. That's what he wanted—what he was due from ten years ago, but he couldn't make _him_ _champion._ He cheated, and everyone knew it. Not only that, _Tristan, _the son that he had hidden, was the true champion. Even if Tristan were dead, he would not insult his memory with such an offense. "Champion? Never."

"To refuse me of this will be the death of your son. He is now my captive and beyond all hope or rescue."

Philippe's heart began pounding in his chest. Temple had just admitted to his crimes and in front of the whole kingdom. Would he say where to find him? What would he bargain with? Philippe was frozen awaiting his next statement, but the princess spoke for him. "Yet there is still hope in our hearts for life and for peace."

Temple rolled his eyes. "Then, _Proud Lady_, let us welcome the return of hope. All hail the prince."

The Green Knight's squires dragged a bound Tristan onto the field. Philippe's mouth went dry. There was his son. He was dirty and disheveled, and he seemed weak, but he was alive. Meanwhile, the crowd was silent in fear. Del Rey struggled against his captors but was unsuccessful at throwing them off. If there was any hope for either Tristan or Temple to walk away from this, Philippe had to convince Temple to hand them both over without a fight. "Green Knight, in your madness you have usurped the desire of kings, and death have you earned."

"If it is peace you seek, then declare me champion of both kingdoms."

"Never, Father," Tristan called to the king. One of Temple's squires cracked a whip to silence him.

"The iron shackle and the weight of stone shall be your reward. The doom of two kings now lies upon your shoulders," Philippe threatened.

Even in his weakened state, Tristan knew the mind of his father. Despite everything Temple had done, he still offered him peace. "Our kings have spoken," he began, "yet a choice remains: peace or death." The whip cracked again.

The Knight of Navarre took the moment to break free and rush those holding Tristan. "Kill him!" Temple called. Tristan, with the aid of del Rey, also managed to throw off Temple's squires. Now both free, they began to attack the squires that had held them. "You fools!" Temple cried out. His plan had been foiled, and he was now left with chaos. He rode toward them to give his squires aid, but he knew he was facing two capable knights now. Even outnumbering them with his squires, defeating them would not be a simple task, and he knew that odds were good that regardless of whether they killed him or imprisoned him, he would never see his family again.

As he freed himself from his bonds, Tristan looked around for a sword. Why was it when it mattered most, he kept finding himself weaponless? "My son!" Tristan looked toward his father's voice who then tossed him his own sword. He hurried to the aid of the Yellow Knight. The squires themselves were easy enough to dispatch, but their numbers meant that it took some time. As Tristan defeated one of them, he jerked his sword from his hand. Now armed with a second sword, he readied himself to face Temple. Upon seeing him, the Green Knight grabbed one of his wounded squires who was struggling to escape and snatched the sword from his hand before throwing him aside. Unfortunately for Tristan, though, the adrenaline was not enough to sustain him, and he found himself knocked down and lying in the dust. He watched Temple's sword as it was about to fall. From nowhere, del Rey stopped it. He helped his prince from the ground and led him to safety. Tristan handed him his sword and hoped for the best.

Exhausted and out of breath, Tristan watched the rest of the battle from the spot where del Rey had left him kneeling. Both of them, del Rey and Temple continued with two swords. Although it wasn't long before they were each down to one. Against all hope, Temple seemed to be tiring first. All in attendance held their breath as the Yellow Knight succeeded in knocking Temple to the ground. He stood over the wounded and weaponless man and knew what had to be done.

Tristan's heart stopped for a moment, and everything seemed to pass before his eyes: teenage Temple, Sofia Temple with her daughter, the peace that was broken at the last tournament. He found himself pitying his captor. He didn't see the enemy—only a broken and beaten man. Tristan was willing to sacrifice all for peace, and as much as Temple deserved to die, Tristan would offer him one last chance at mercy. Del Rey was about to strike. "Wait!" Tristan called out. Del Rey had heard him and reluctantly stepped away from his prey. Temple struggled to his knees. He was holding his arm close to his chest. "Peace or death!" Tristan offered.

Temple turned and looked at the prince through the dark locks that fell across his face. Peace? He could feel blood dripping down his arm from his wound. He was a dead man either way, and he knew it. There would be no peace for him now, and he would not give Tristan or Philippe the satisfaction. He saw his sword only a few feet away. It was within reach if he hurried. He would die a man with his sword in hand. If he was to die today, he would die fighting. As swift as he could, he snatched his sword and threw one last vain blow in the direction of del Rey. It was easily blocked. His sword flew from his hand, and he heard himself cry out. Del Rey's boot found his ribs, and the Yellow Knight's sword fell one last time.

The crowd was silent a moment in shock and then erupted in loud applause. The Green Knight's body lay motionless on the field that was also littered with the bodies of his dead and wounded squires. Del Rey knelt before his liege. Tristan had once again found the strength to stand. Princess Leonore was the first to utter an intelligible syllable. "Invincible! Never vanquished! Mighty hearts. Good King, let us rejoice, for here is courage everlasting."

Philippe had turned very pale as he watched his son and del Rey fight Temple, but he followed the princess's lead. "My Lords, My Ladies, here stand the greatest of our house: protectors to the throne. Son," he began.

"Husband," the princess added.

"Champions!" Matias finished. Tristan held his sword aloft as the people cheered the safe return of their prince and champion, but Tristan was not satisfied to share the glory alone. He grabbed del Rey's arm and pulled him from the ground to even more cheers from the people.

Leonore could not contain her excitement any longer. "Champions, indeed of our hearts. Attend me, My Love, for our parting has been too long." He looked to her and smiled. After shaking del Rey's hand, he made his way to his wife.


	15. New Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen. **

The crowd continued to cheer. Philippe was relieved that Tristan was safe, but he also found himself tense. He grabbed his nearest page. "Get Temple off the field. Do it now." He watched his page run tell a squire the wish of the king. The young man looked up at him, and Philippe nodded. He caught the attention of another squire, and several of them ran out to assist Temple from the field. The page ran back to Philippe. "Does he live?" the king asked.

"Yes. Barely, Sire."

"Have his wounds seen to. Save him if you can. Go!" He then looked to Matias who had approached the dais. "Are those all his squires out there?"

"I'm not sure."

"See if it is. If you find anymore that were involved in this plot, throw them in the dungeon until we can figure out what is to be done with them." Matias hurried away to see to his duties. Philippe then looked urgently around for Tristan. He wanted news on what had happened and where he had been, but he was gone. So was Leonore. Philippe smiled to himself. He'd give them a moment to themselves. The celebration had begun, but Philippe saw none of it. He had too many things to see to, and he knew what he had to do first.

Leonore met Tristan away from the growing throng. "Are you all right?" she asked him while looking him over for any wounds. He nodded. "There's blood," she said touching a red stain on his white tabard.

He took her hand in his own trying to draw her attention away from the stain. "It's not mine. _It's really okay._ I'm fine."

"This blood is yours," she said with lines of concern deepening on her brow as she reached up and touched the side of his face where he was bleeding from a cut near his hair.

He took that hand from her too and continued his reassurances. "It's only a scratch. I promise. I'm fine."

"But you're filthy . . . and weak . . . you could use a bath . . . and a warm meal. Are you sure you're all right?"

He just pulled her close and held her against him. "I am now."

"I thought I'd never see you again."

"Shhh . . . Don't talk. It's all right. It's all over now."

Catalina had gone virtually unnoticed on the dais. She still sat in shock. When the Green Knight rode in and broke his lance on the Yellow Knight's back, she had almost jumped from her seat. How dare he do such a thing? And then, the prince had returned, and she watched all those men—those squires were killed right in front of her. Everyone else celebrated. The field was littered with people. The mob had lifted the hero—the Yellow Knight—on their shoulders. A carnival had erupted on the field with impromptu music and dancing, but Catalina had not budged from her spot. How did her brother do it? How had her father done it? Every summer they would go away to fight Leon and every fall returned just as pleasant as before. Seeing this everyday would make her go mad. No wonder the Green Knight was a little crazy. When she was little, she had dreamed of becoming a knight. She had fought her brother with pretend swords, and they had battled all over the house. Now she was glad that soldiering was not within her sphere. She wouldn't have been able to handle it, and in battle, she would have been absolutely useless.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a squire had vaulted upon the dais. "Are you all right, My Lady?" She looked up to see the Yellow Knight's twin. He didn't much look like him today. He had shaved off what facial hair he had in honor of the final day of the tournament. He knelt and put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?" he repeated looking into her eyes.

The touch brought her back to reality. "Yes. Yes, forgive me." She stood abruptly. "I just . . ."

He stood with her. "I know. . . . Alejandro del Rey," he added with a slight bow of his head. He nodded at the Knight of Navarre who was attempting to extricate himself from his admirers. "Eduardo is my brother."

"I can tell," she said grinning.

"You didn't get to award him his prize."

"What?" He nodded at the prize for the victor of the tournament. "Oh, right." She grinned. She picked up the laurel crown. Standing on her toes, she set it on Alejandro's head. "There. Close enough."

He chuckled. "In the commotion, I doubt anyone will notice."

"Hey!" they both heard. They turned toward the crowd. Her father was below the dais watching them. She noticed her father was smiling. "Which one are you?" he asked her companion.

"Alejandro."

"Just making sure you were the right one."

"The right one?" she asked.

"Yes. It seems that this is a fine opportunity to arrange marriages. I've had a few offers for you. Alberto as well. With any luck, you'll both be married by the end of the month. I had met with del Rey about you and Alejandro. Did you know?"

"No," she replied looking between the both of them.

"Your mother didn't tell you? Anyway, just wanted to be sure you were with the right brother."

She found herself smiling. "You can't tell them apart?"

"No . . . . They're twins. . . . You don't mean you can?"  
"Of course." Her father just shook his head and walked away. She looked curiously at her betrothed.

He shrugged. "I was gonna tell you." She shrugged somewhat nervously. "Come on," he said gently. He took her by the hand, and they joined the celebration below.

Philippe went and found where his squires had brought Temple. The surgeon met him at the opening of the tent. The man was covered in blood. "He is dying, Sire. I can't say I'm sorry, but I did try to save him. Although, why you'd want to is beyond me."

Philippe nodded. "Then perhaps you should find him a priest." The king eased in quietly and saw Temple lying there. He was not restrained in any way although the tent was still guarded. But there was little chance that he posed any danger now. He nodded at the man waiting on him to leave them. He did so gladly. "Hello, Carlos," he said softly.

Temple opened his eyes long enough to see who addressed him but closed them back. "I'm dying?" he asked weakly.

"Yes."

Temple wasn't sure why he had asked. He knew from the moment del Rey's stroke fell that it was the end. Pain shot through him at first. Now, it was a mere dull lingering, and he couldn't even tell where it came from anymore. He was confused as to why his body kept insisting on drawing breath. He wasn't fighting death. He didn't have the will to fight anything any more—not even the man Philippe had commissioned to save him. It amused him somewhat that Philippe tried to save him _now_. And he knew why Philippe was here, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. "Peace does not agree with me," he said trying to smile.

"What were you thinking? Did you honestly think you would succeed?" Philippe asked quietly but sternly.

He didn't answer at first. "I just wanted what was mine. And I wanted you to know what it felt like to lose everything—to lose a child. And I almost succeeded."

"You have succeeded, Mejo."

"Don't call me that. I'm not your son. Never was."

"No. I guess not." Philippe took a seat.

"I didn't. . . . I wasn't going to kill Tristan. That was never my intention," Temple said softly.

"I know. If that's what you wanted you could have killed him long before now. I came here, Carlos, because I want you to know that I am sorry for everything. Beginning with your mother. I would like your forgiveness." Temple scoffed. "You were right. You hear me, Carlos? I said, '_You were right_.' I was coward. If I could change things, I would. I knew Catalina felt confined by her father's rules while we were camped there. I knew she was sneaking out. I could have stopped it then, and I didn't. I should have. You lying where you are, it's my fault. All of it is. And I'm sorry."

Temple swallowed with difficulty and opened his eyes. "You're the only man in this realm who will lend me an ear. . . . My son . . . I have a son . . . two actually. With another coming soon. Give them a message for me?"

"Of course."

"Tell them I love them. . . . And I know they'll make me proud. . . . They're good boys."

"I'm sure they are. And your wife?"

"Tell her whatever you want. She'll be better off now anyway. She'll be free of me. She's probably been wanting me to burn in hell for years. . . . She'll finally get it now."

"I'll tell them. And I'll tell them the truth. Tristan, Francisco. My entire realm if you like."

"Doesn't matter now," he replied closing his eyes again.

Philippe found himself growing more anxious. Earlier today, he had been running out of time to save Tristan. Now that Tristan was found, he was running out of time with Carlos. He had to make amends with that boy, or he would never forgive himself. "What else would you have me do?" he asked desperately. "What acts of penance would you give me to atone for my actions?"

He sighed. "You ask _now?_ I lost count of the villages I destroyed—men I've killed. I took your son. I burned your treaty. Yet you ask me for forgiveness _now_. When it doesn't even matter. I'm no threat to anyone anymore."

"Your forgiveness still means a great deal to me. I can't even hold the crimes you committed against my kingdom against you. Even if I did, with peace, all those battles, raids—they are forgotten. And I took your daughter from you. Your other child. Your wife. I can't even imagine. And the treaty? Well, I think you're paying for that now. I forgave you long ago. Partly because none of this would have happened if I hadn't been a foolish and arrogant young man. And I knew. . . I knew if they knew the truth, my father, the King of Leon, if they knew the truth they would have seen to it that you didn't draw another breath. But I could and should have protected you. If I had only stood up to my father and did what was right by you. . . ." Philippe's eyes wandered to Temple's hands. He was clutching the sheet that was over him. His knuckles were white. His eyes were clenched shut. He knew the man was in pain, and he could do nothing. "Carlos?"

"What?" he replied coldly.

"Are you listening?"

Temple opened his eyes and stared at the top of the tent. "To what? The ramblings of an old man?" Temple's eyes then began to wander, as if he saw things that weren't really there, and Philippe was afraid he was losing him.

"Carlos, look at me," he said standing over him. "Carlos, without your forgiveness, I will live the rest of my days in torment. I'll do whatever you ask. I swear it. I'll protect your family—your wife, your young boys, the third that you're expecting. I'll provide for them like little princes. I'll rebuild Asturius with my own bare hands, _please_."

"You want forgiveness? If I gave it to you, would you shut up and leave?" he asked as bitter as he could muster considering his condition.

"I'll do whatever you want."

Temple shifted as if he were uncomfortable. Philippe knew that it probably had more to do with his mental state than his physical one. "My wife . . . I can't return to my wife without making peace with you. I'd never hear the end of it." Philippe stared at him confused. Was Temple delusional? "Return to _his wife_"? He would never see that woman again—at least not in this world. Then, he realized no. He was talking about his _first_ wife. He was talking about Sofia. He knew Carlos wouldn't forgive him for his sake, but he would forgive him for hers. "Take your forgiveness and go. And let me die in peace," he said through clenched teeth.

"Excuse me, Sire?" Philippe turned to see the surgeon who had returned with a priest.

"One more moment." He left. "I suppose this is farewell, Carlos." His throat constricted, but he would not shed a tear now.

Temple opened his eyes one more time. "You will tell them for me?" he asked, and Philippe thought he looked more like that child they found half frozen in that field than he ever did in the past thirty years.

Philippe's gaze narrowed. The hardened, bitter man was gone. "I will do what you ask."

Temple closed his eyes, and his body relaxed. "Thank you, Sir," he whispered.

Philippe was slightly stunned at the lack of sarcasm in Temple's reply. But he also understood. He may have felt guilty concerning Temple, but in the young man's last moments, he was no longer concerned about Philippe. He was feeling guilty concerning his own family. Now, they would finally be able to do something for each other. "May God have mercy on you," he said softly reaching out and squeezing Temple's shoulder. He didn't dare say more. He had a long walk back to his chambers, and his vassals should not see him sobbing over the death of his archenemy. He stepped out of the tent and saw not the priest he had expected but the Black and White Knight. "What is it you want, Sir Knight?"

The surgeon spoke, "Couldn't find a priest, Sire. Most were scared to hear his confession, and the ones that weren't . . . well, Sire, they were quite content to let him burn in Hell. This is the best I could do."

"What are your intentions?" Philippe asked.

"I'm not here to harm him, Sire. Nor to feed idle gossips. He's a man like anyone else. I knew him . . . before. He was a few years my senior, but I trained with him at Don Reyes's. He deserves what little peace he can get."

Philippe nodded and stepped aside so he could gain entrance. He then addressed the surgeon. "Give him something to ease the pain." The surgeon gave his king a look that Philippe clearly read as the surgeon's desire for the Knight of Leon to suffer as much as possible before succumbing to death. "Do it."

Philippe sat alone in his chambers. There was a knock on the door. He ignored it like he ignored the noises from the celebration below. "Sire?" his chancellor asked entering slowly.

"Yes, Matias?" Soledad wore a dark look. "He is dead then?" Matias nodded.

The king didn't answer, and Matias walked slowly into the room. "Sire, looking back, would you . . ."

"I would have done a lot of things differently," he said shortly, interrupting him. "But what good does it do to try to change the past? It's futile. What's done is done."

Matias was quiet. Philippe never wanted to send the boy to Javier Temple. He began to think of ways he could have prevented this himself, but Philippe was right. What's done is done. "Will you tell Tristan now?"

"Tell him what?"

"That he just witnessed the death of his brother."

"I don't know. I don't know. . . . It's what he wanted."

"What?" Matias asked not following Philippe's voiced thoughts.

"To be champion."

Matias then realized that Philippe had switched topics from Tristan to Temple. "To make up for ten years ago?"

"I guess. But not just that. He wanted _Tristan's_ place. He wanted what he thought was rightfully his. He just wanted what I couldn't give him."

Philippe wasn't making much sense anymore so Matias stopped talking and departed leaving his king to brood in solitary silence.

Philippe thought about that winter. He could still see her dancing in the moonlight after sneaking out that secret passage she knew about. How young and foolish they had both been, though nothing about Catalina Temple had seemed foolish to him at the time. Late on the night before his departure, he had promised to return. She hadn't believed him, and she was the one that was right. His campaign the next year didn't bring him near her, and before he knew it his father had promised him to someone else. Even after he received news of the child, it was easy enough to pretend it didn't happen until six years later when he found himself in trouble and back on Temple's lands. Catalina had found him and brought him his son, but he wouldn't see him. Then she died, and fate caused him to stumble over the little orphan himself. He had reluctantly agreed to send him to Temple, but he had defied his father even though the old man didn't know it. He sneaked in to see his son. The boy was sleeping. He dismissed the squire watching over him. He looked so small in the furs Matias had him wrapped in, and his face bore the traces of tears that had vainly attempted to wash some of the dirt and soot from his cheeks. Sitting beside him, Philippe couldn't help but brush a wavy lock of brown hair from his face.

"You wake him, you'll have hell to pay from me." Philippe had turned to see Matias watching him. "It took him so long to cry himself to sleep."

At that moment the king muscled his way in. "You're still following my orders? Are you keeping him from his father?"

Soledad looked at the ground. "I'm doing my best, Sire."

"Good. Have you told the boy what's to be done with him?"

"Not yet. I saw no reason to wake him."

"Nonsense. Get him up." When neither Philippe nor Matias budged, the king reached down and grabbed the boy by the nape of the neck and pulled him up. "Wake up, Boy." Young Carlos stood wiping his face and looking at the three of them in confusion. "What's your name?" He didn't answer. "Speak up. What's the matter with him? I thought bastards were supposed to be merry fellows." He leaned down and stared into Carlos's face. "You are a burden that I didn't ask for, just as you were to your grandfather. Got him and your mother killed for their trouble too." Carlos's face was transforming the look of confusion to anger. "We're sending you to your uncle—Javier Temple. He'll deal with you, and if he doesn't, well . . . good luck trying to make it on your own, Boy." The king stood to go. He looked over at his son. "Philippe, let's go."

"Just a moment." The king scoffed and left. Philippe had noticed fear flash across the boy's face at the mention of his uncle. He knew Javier was not on speaking terms with his family, and there was no telling what sort of stories he had heard. Philippe knelt beside him and put a hand on his head. "Don't be afraid. No one is going to hurt you. Your uncle's wife, Isabel Temple, is a sweet lady, and she is going to take very good care of you. This is for the best. Don't be afraid."

Young Temple shrugged him off and retreated to the far corner of the tent where he curled up and hid his face. Every few seconds, Philippe could hear him sniffling. "Is there nothing else we can do?" he asked Matias softly.

"You weren't exactly pleased when _your_ mother died, were you? And it didn't indicate a complete change in your circumstances. He's lost everything he knows. He would be upset even if you did take him back and make him a prince."

Philippe sighed. "Was he hurt in the raid?"

"I don't think so. He wouldn't let me touch him, but that blood he has on him doesn't appear to be his. Although, he hasn't said a word since we took him from that field."

"So it's not just my father having that effect on him?"

"No."

"He's beautiful," Philippe added after a pause.

"Yes. And has a strong arm."

"I know." Philippe replied chuckling and absently rubbing his arm where the lad had struck him. Even now, thirty years later, Philippe felt the sting of those blows. Temple was right, in a way. Everyone had suffered for his tryst except him. Catalina herself had died trying to get that boy to him so he could keep him safe; now the child they had made together was dead, and he had effectively killed him. Her scolding face kept flashing before his mind as the tears spilled down. "I'm sorry," he whispered burying his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry."

There was a soft knock at the door, and Philippe hastily wiped his face. Luis along with a ladened comrade entered escorted by Matias. Philippe looked at them expectantly awaiting an answer for this intrusion. "We found two more of his squires. They're locked away," Luis began. Philippe nodded. "We also took this from the field." Luis took a sword from his friend and handed it to his king. "It's his."

Philippe stared at it strangely. It was still stained with blood. "That is well. His son should have it."

"We also found this in his tent. We weren't sure what to do with it." The young man Luis was with set the leather pack on a table in the room. On top, was a note addressed to Soledad. "Thank you," the king said and dismissed them. "What do you make of it?" he asked Matias who also stared at it curiously.

"I don't know. With your permission?" Philippe nodded. Matias took the parchment and broke the seal. He cleared his throat. "It says, 'If you have found this, then I am dead or soon to be so. I have always considered you a man of honor, and I would like to make one last request of you: see that the contents of this case reach their destination. I know I am not to be trusted. Nor am I in any position to ask for any favors. But have some pity on my family and show them some mercy in what I know is a trying time for them. Please. It is not for my sake but theirs that I ask this odious task of you.' That's it. Then it's signed."

Philippe widened the opening and peered inside. Matias reached in and pulled out a packet of letters—most of them addressed to his family. "I don't suppose there's one for me in there?" Philippe asked.

"I don't see one, Sire."

There was another knock on the door. Tristan and Leonore entered laughing and without waiting for admittance. "Father, we have news," Tristan said brightly. Then he saw Philippe's face. "Are you all right, Father?" he asked concerned. It was he who been held captive for two weeks, but the king looked worse than he did. Philippe nodded. "Why are you not celebrating with the others? We have peace. This is what you wanted," Tristan asked confused.

"I never wanted him dead," Philippe replied staring out the window at the starry sky.

"He had a choice. . . . You still hold yourself responsible? Father . . ."

"You speak of what you do not know!" Tristan was silenced by his father's uncalled for anger. Philippe sighed and addressed his chancellor. "Soledad, would you arrange for Temple's body to be taken back to Leon? I'll write up a message for the king. I'd like to speak with him."

"I'll take it—the message I mean," Tristan volunteered.

His father smiled. "I would think you would be less eager to go to Leon considering your last visit. Although, it might not be a bad idea."

"No! You mustn't!" the princess objected-horrified at the prospect of Tristan making another dangerous journey so soon. "Father, Tristan only just returned to us from perilous hands. He needs time here with us before attempting another such journey."

"You're right, Leonore. Forgive me. Tristan could use some rest after his ordeal. Maybe we should send del Rey or del Mau. I'd want the body guarded. There's no knowing what that mob out there would do to it if they got their hands on it. I want it safely delivered to his king. The man had a wife and children. They deserve to have some closure—have their father and husband given a proper burial. Both del Mau and del Rey fared well in the tournament. A specific errand of the king might be a reward for such an occasion."

"I'm sure they'd be honored by such a request," Soledad replied knowing that, in truth, doing a favor for Temple would not make anyone feel honored. Philippe had picked up Temple's stained sword. He stared at it with a curious look on his face. "Would you like me to send that with his body?" Matias asked.

"No. No, I'll keep it and give it to the king myself when he arrives. Send the letters though."

"Sire?" Soledad began.

"Yes?"  
"Tristan is right. You cannot blame yourself for this. You may have done some things that were wrong. But the time has come. You have to let it go and hold Temple responsible for his own actions."

He nodded. "I suppose." He looked out the window at the celebration that had extended well into the night. He heard Soledad lead his son and his daughter-in-law from the room. And he knew that Soledad was right. He could no longer blame himself. And everyone deserved to know the truth.

Alejandro Del Rey and Catalina del Mau walked together among the tents with her friends and her brother. They all slowed to halt outside the Green Knight's pavilion. Philippe's men were guarding it closely.

"Do you think he's dead?" Alberto asked.

"Yes," Catalina said matter-of-factly.

"How do you know?"Maria replied.

"They're not just guarding it. Look at them. They are going through his things," she replied.

Alberto tried reasoning with his sister. "That could just mean he's been detained. They are going through his belongings looking for more evidence."

"_More evidence?_ Do they need any? Speculate all you want. They are not expecting him to return. He's dead," she retorted.

"You look sorry," Alejandro added.

"It's a shame, I guess," she said with a shrug.

"I guess all of you are sorry," Alberto remarked rolling his eyes.

Catalina found herself defensive knowing that _you_ meant all those in attendance of the female persuasion. "Like any spectator, I appreciated his talent on the field no matter what he looked like. You said you figured his wife wouldn't appreciate the attention he got from us, but how do you think she appreciates the kind of attention he got from you and your friends?"

"Grateful," her brother replied with clenched teeth.

"You don't know that," she scoffed. "He may have deserved to die, but . . . I want to know what it means."

"It means it's time to celebrate. What do you think it means?" Amelia said laughing and twirling.

"No, I mean, what does this mean for peace? How will the people of Leon feel about their champion being killed at Philippe's tournament? They might reject peace now and want to avenge him."

"Never fear, My Lady," Alejandro replied hoping to ease her agitation. "The King of Leon wants peace just as much as Philippe and as long as he was not involved in the plot (and no one thinks he was), then I see no reason for peace not to continue. He'll persuade his people."

Amelia snickered. "What?" Catalina asked under her breath as they began to walk away from the Green Knight's quarters and something else had distracted the two gentlemen.

"He called you 'My Lady.'"

"So? It sure beats 'Cat.'"

The girls then noticedMatias de Soledad walking toward them. "Look, it's my uncle, the chancellor. What do you think he wants?" Maria said.

"I don't know," Catalina replied.

"My Lords, might I have a few words with you? The king needs a favor."

Matias, Alejandro, and Alberto went off into the shadows to speak alone. The hour being late, the girls made their way back to their chambers. They said little. The excitement had finally exhausted all their strength. As they reached the door, they heard someone calling out to them. Alejandro had run to catch up with them.

"Might I have a word with you before you go in?" he asked Catalina. She nodded, and her friends politely excused themselves. "I'm taking a journey to Leon tomorrow."

"A new treaty?" she asked.

"Yes, and returning Temple to his king."

Catalina found herself nervous. What had her brother told him? "You don't have to . . . My brother thinks that I . . ."

"I know. But I'm going all the same. I will hand the new treaty to the King of Leon myself, and I will return with peace. . . . just for you. It's important to all of us, and I will not fail you."

Catalina found herself once again wide awake. "Please, don't misunderstand. I am flattered. _I am_. But you don't have to prove anything to me."

"I know. One glance from that penetrating stare, and you see straight through me—just like you do everyone else."

"No. That's not true. I mean, . . . it's a game. It's all assumption, speculation. I could be wrong, you know. His wife may be throwing a party or running off with the gamekeeper. How would I know? At the end of the day, I didn't know that man. I've never met his wife. You've been talking to my brother or my father."

She would have continued, but he reached out and touched her face to silence her. "_You_ don't misunderstand. You're father and brother speak of you with a great deal of respect. All I'm asking is that you allow me the same courtesy. Now, I ride for Leon. Let me take your treaty and return to you with peace. Let me do that for you because I want to. Humor me, if you must," he added with a smile and kissed her hand.

She nodded. "Then let me wish you a safe and speedy journey."

His smile widened, and he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight," he whispered and turned and left down the hall.

After he left, Catalina stood very still for a moment. She was waiting for the foolish grin and blush to return to some semblance of normality before returning to her friends. She shook it off and entered the room. Both Amelia and Maria were looking at her, and Catalina simply rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said.

They both laughed. "We didn't say a word," Amelia said.

"You said plenty," Catalina replied throwing a pillow at her friend.


	16. New Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Francisco had sent for her mother. Temple's wife would need some source of comfort. The official emissary from Philippe had not yet arrived, but his own messengers had reached him and told him of the conclusion. Lady Rodriguez had arrived earlier, but she had not yet seen her daughter, nor had he yet told her the truth. Now Francisco stood near the gate awaiting the arrival of the white banners. He stood watching Temple's boys playing on the edge of the courtyard. He should have sent them somewhere else, but he thought he could shield any news from them at least for the moment. As he watched, three of Philippe's knights rode through the gate followed by a retinue and a cart ladened with a simple box carrying the body of Don Temple. As they were introducing themselves, Lady Temple found her way outside. She saw the knights and the cargo they brought, and she knew. Unnoticed by Francisco she walked up to the cart and placed her hand on the box carrying her husband's body. She fell across it weeping. Francisco heard her and hurriedly excused himself from the knights. He pulled her away. She didn't fight him, but without the support of the cart, she sunk to the ground. He was about to join her when he looked up to see her mother running toward her. It was she who joined her on the ground and held her. The boys had seen the exchange as well. They approached her slowly.

"What's wrong, Mama?" Manuel asked. She said nothing only pulled the children closer to her. They did not resist.

"My Lady," Francisco began.

Lady Rodriguez stopped him. "Go, Sire," she said nodding toward the knights. "We'll manage. Go."

Francisco knew the woman was right, but he still hated leaving her like this. And it would forever haunt and yet touch him at the same time the way little Javier patted his mother's arm saying. "It's all right, Mama. It's okay."

Alejandro, Alberto, and Eduardo all watched the scene with mixed emotions. They saw the woman crumple to the ground racked with sobs, and they realized Catalina had been right. "I don't think she's grateful," Alejandro whispered to Alberto.

"No. No, she isn't," he replied softly with a look of pity.

"How did she know? How does she do it?" Alberto only shrugged. "Remind me never to doubt your sister."

Eduardo stared at the ground without speaking. Alejandro knew what his brother was thinking. Eduardo had been the one to kill him. They all felt guilty even knowing that there was no other option. He had given them none.

Francisco left the wailing woman and approached them. He shrugged helplessly. "His wife," he said explaining, although they had already assumed as much. "Come with me," he said leading them to more private accommodations. "One of you was declared champion of the tournament, yes?" Before they could speak, he continued. "Don't tell me which one of you killed him. I don't want or need to know. Also, it would be wise not to voice the victor around here. Here in Leon, Temple was no butcher. He was hero, and the man who ended his life will not be looked on with favor. Understand?"

"We do, Your Majesty," Alejandro replied.

"Spare me names, but tell me what happened."

Alejandro did the best he could as the self-appointed spokesman. The King of Leon said nothing in reply. "We bring another copy of the treaty." Francisco held out a hand expectantly, and Alejandro handed it to him with a bow. The king began to peruse its contents. "We hope that despite the incidents of the past few weeks, you are still inclined to peace."

"Absolutely. Even more now than ever, if that's possible. His death will not be in vain. We'll have peace now if it kills me." He signed the document and handed it back. "As soon as you're rested, you'll have all the supplies you need: food, water, fresh horses. Take that back to your king as fast as you can, and let's end this."

"Sire, there were a few other things. King Philippe sends a personal message. He wants you to return with us. He wants to meet with you and with Temple's family."

"I can't do that. I have a burial to see to, and you saw his wife. She's with child. She can't travel that kind of distance. I wish to see your king as well, but I need time."

Alejandro nodded. "I will tell him to expect you soon then. Also," he nodded at Alberto who brought forward the stack of letters. "These were found in his tent. He left a note for Philippe's chancellor asking to have them delivered. They are all for his family save one."

Francisco held up the one addressed to him. "I don't suppose Philippe or Tristan got one."

"Just you and his family, Sire. And the one to Soledad saying what he wanted done with them."

He stared at the parchment thoughtfully. "Would _you_ want to know what he had to say, Sir Knight?"

"Yesterday, I would have said no. But after seeing his wife, his children, I . . . Maybe I didn't see something I should have. His sister," he said nodding at del Mau, "and my fiancé, she saw him much clearer than we did. And, yes, I would want to know what he had to say."

"Don't feel too much pity for him. Despite what you saw, he wasn't a good husband, and he wouldn't have denied that. Those weren't the first tears she's cried on account of him, I promise you. . . . If there's nothing else, you may go. A page will be waiting just outside to see to your needs. Then get back to your king." The three young men bowed and turned to go.

Francisco watched them depart. He looked at the letter addressed to him. He sighed and ran a hand across his face. He reluctantly broke the seal and began to read. It was emotionless. It contained no excuses—just a plan for the provision of his wife and children. His presumption angered Francisco slightly, and he wanted to retaliate. But Temple was right. He would do nothing else to harm that woman or her children. He pitied her. Lady Temple's hopes for peace and dreams of a life with Temple had been destroyed at the same moment that inaugurated peace for the rest of the kingdom. It just wasn't fair. He looked through the remaining letters. He arranged to have Aracely sent hers along with a personal note from himself. Temple had written one to his wife and several to his children. He had even sent the boys a few trinkets to ease the pain. Francisco sighed, picked up a handful, and went to find the man's family.

The boys had been told the truth before Francisco arrived. They listened to their letters and accepted their toys. Javy was very quiet. He could tell something momentous and sad was happening, but Francisco wasn't sure he knew just what that was. Manuel knew the truth and was obviously upset. He had retreated to a corner alone and would not look at any of them. Francisco sat with them until Lady Rodriguez came to fetch them for bed. "Where is your daughter?" he asked.

"I sent her to bed. All this excitement isn't good for her or the child she carries."

"Do you think it'd be okay if I went to see her?"

She chuckled. "You're the king. Do whatever you like."

He eased into her room. She noticed him, but she said nothing. "I'm sorry," he said softly. She shrugged.

"The boys . . . I need . . ."

"They're okay. I just left them myself. Your mother was about to put them to bed."

"And the prince. What of him?"

"Tristan's all right. Temple didn't kill him." She did not reply. "Philippe tried. So did Tristan." She wiped away a tear. "Does it bother you to hear?"

"Yes. But I want to know. I want to know everything."

Francisco sat on the edge of the bed and related what news he had. He told her about the letters. He pulled one from his pocket. "This one belongs to you."

"Will you read it to me?"

"If you like, My Lady, but I can have someone else. It might contain something personal, and I don't want. . . ."

"It's fine. Please?"

Francisco nodded. He broke the seal and began. "It has your name on the front obviously—Lady Gabriela Temple."

She interrupted him with a slight smile. "You mean he actually _knew_ my name?"

Francisco smiled back. "Apparently so. Why? He never called you the wrong name, did he?"

"No. In fact, I wish he had. If he had ever mistaken me for Sophia I would have been flattered. He never called me anything. He had no name for me. It didn't matter to him."

Slightly uncomfortable by her confession, Francisco cleared his throat and read Temple's letter aloud to his wife.

_My Dear Wife,_

_ If you are reading this, then I am dead. And if so, then I am afraid that I must break my promise to you. I did wish to live with you in peace at Asturius with the children, but as it is, I will be unable to do so. At least now you are free. I was not the husband you needed, and now you are free to marry whom you choose. I hope that you will be wise in your decision and marry someone worthy of you—someone who will love you and the children as much as you deserve. I know that you cared for me more than you should have, and having lost a spouse myself, I know the pain you must be feeling. And for that, I am sorry. When I married you, I never meant for it to end this way. Although, I could have misunderstood. You might not be feeling any grief at all—only relief that I can hurt you no longer. In any case, I meant it when I said that I never meant to hurt you or our two boys._

_I do not envy the task you have before you—raising three children on your own, but you should lack for nothing. Asturius produces a good living, and I'm sure Francisco will let you keep it despite my treacherous acts. He thinks well of you, and he knew I was planning on rebuilding it when I returned. In my letter to him, I asked that he continue that plan for you and the boys. He wouldn't carry out such a request for me, but I know he'll do it for you. I wish my Aunt Isabel were alive. She would have been a great help and source of comfort for you. I'm sure my sister would be to you both a faithful friend and ally if ever you needed anything._

_ I would try to explain to you why it is that I did what I did, but I am not sure I could or that you would ever understand. I know you hate me for it, and I don't blame you. You probably hate me for a lot of things and rightly so. But if I had done otherwise, I would have never forgiven myself. Perhaps someday you will find some forgiveness in your heart. Although, I can think of no reason why I would ever deserve your forgiveness. I did give you two beautiful sons, but you deserve all the credit for why our boys are fine young men. They will be assets to the kingdom in their own way, and I am certainly not the reason that they will be so. I'm sure the third, whether a son or a daughter, will be a credit to you as well. You are a perfect wife and mother, and you deserved so much better than I. It is my hope that you might live the rest of your days in peace and happiness with the family that you love so much._

_Your undeserving, wretch of a husband,_

_Carlos Temple_

As he finished, he could not read the expression on her face. "I think . . . based on this letter . . . I think he cared for you."

"Perhaps. But he never cared enough to stay. And even if he did, he always loved Sofia more, and he always would have. After all, in the end, he chose to die for her instead of live with me . . . Thank you, My Lord, for reading it to me. What happens to us now?"

Francisco shrugged and stood to go. "Philippe has sent for us. He wants to see us. We'll go when you can travel. Right now, I've sent your husband's body to Asturius to be buried."

"I want to go."

"My Lady, in your condition . . ."

"_I want to go_."

"All right. I'll see what can be done. Just . . . concentrate on your children. All three of them need you right now. I'll leave you now to rest."

The weeks had passed quickly, and Francisco still couldn't believe Temple would betray him like that. And yet, he could. The minute he heard Tristan and Temple were both missing, he knew the truth in his heart. And now the man was dead, leaving behind a sweet wife and three young sons. The minute his messengers had arrived and he heard the news of what Temple had done, he intended to go to Philippe himself and apologize in person, but Philippe had sent for him and _Temple's family_. Why? He was grateful Lady Temple couldn't travel immediately. He had time to come up with some kind of defense. Philippe seemed patient. The time had passed. Now, he was in an inn a day's journey away from Philippe, and he was unable to sleep. He had had plenty of time to prepare, and yet, he still didn't know how to answer to his errant knight's actions. Restless, he walked down the hall into the common area. Lady Temple was there pacing, trying to calm her fussing infant. When she saw him, she gave him an apologetic glance. "I didn't mean to wake anyone."

"You didn't." He took a seat. "Is he all right? The traveling isn't too much for him?"

"I think he's just tired. . . . Sire, now that we have a moment to ourselves, without the children or the nurse present, might I ask you a question?"

"Please."

"What does Philippe want with us?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Are we to be punished for what my husband has done?"

He shook his head. "I can't imagine Philippe holding you in any way responsible. I don't think he's out for revenge either. In the end, Tristan wasn't hurt, and Philippe wants peace. If he does think that you are in some way culpable, I will personally defend you and your boys, My Lady."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I just don't want anything to happen to them. They've been through enough already."

"How are they doing?"

"I don't think Javy understands yet. But Manuel is still very upset."

He nodded. "They're strong. They'll be okay. Have you decided on a name?" he asked nodding at the little one.

"I think I'll call him Carlos. Seems right. He should have something of his father's. Not much risk of confusion now. Not that I ever called him that anyway." Her lip began to quiver.

"I'm sorry. I've sent word to Temple's steward to start rebuilding Asturius. I'll do as he asked and hold it in trust for Manuel."

"Thank you, Sire." She began to cry.

"You and your sons will be taken care of. Don't worry. I'll see to it."

"It's not that, My Liege. I'm sad he's gone. I'm actually mourning the poor bastard. . . . And don't look so shocked. I don't care what they say about him in Philippe's realm or what you thought of him. He was a good man. I could have been a better wife—not have annoyed him so much."

"No. No, you were . . . not at fault that he was so difficult. It's who he was. He was my friend once. He changed when he lost his family."

"Not much. He could be sweet too . . . when he wanted to be. And when he was around, he was so good with the boys. They adored him. And so did I. Even if he didn't feel the same. And if that makes me a fool, then so be it."

Manuel was invited to finish the journey with the king. It at least got him away from his brother. The two of them had spent too much time together in an enclosed space. The boy sat silently staring out the window. He carried a wooden sword and a little figurine of a knight that he would not part with. Both had been given to him by his father, and he even slept with them. "I'm sorry about your father," Francisco said.

The boy didn't look at him. "The people at the inn talked about him. They said mean things. They're glad he's dead." He then turned to face his king. "Was my father a bad man?"

Francisco shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't tell this child how angry he was at Temple, that Temple had betrayed him, or that Temple had very much deserved what he got and then some. He thought for a moment about how he would explain this to a child. "Has your brother ever done anything to you that you didn't like, that annoyed you, or even hurt you so you hit him? And you're the one who got in trouble, and you didn't understand why?"

He grinned. "Lots of times."

"It's kinda the same thing with your father. Philippe has done some things or allowed some things to happen that your father didn't think was fair. So your father did some pretty mean things to Philippe even though I told him not to. So he got in trouble, and he had to be punished."

"What kind of things? What did Philippe do to him? Did my father hit him?"

"No, Manuel, with grownups these things are always a little more complicated."

"What happened? I want to know."

Francisco sighed. "Your father disobeyed his king. Me and King Philippe and what he did was very wrong. Philippe tried to save him, but he was hurt too bad to be fixed." The boy said nothing—only clutched his toys closer to his chest. "But you're a big boy now. You have to be strong and take care of your mother and brothers. You'll be moved to the garrison and start your training as a page soon. You'll be knight just like your father."

"He said that I was the man of the house and to take care of them while he was away."

"And he was very right, Don Manuel Temple, Lord of Asturius."

The boy grinned slightly. "Don Temple? Like my father?"

"Just like him."

Matias walked out to greet them. A nurse carried a sleeping infant. Lady Temple also carried a sleeping child while leading his brother who walked very close to her. Francisco walked a few steps behind as if he were watching over them. "Greetings." He bowed slightly to the King of Leon. "The king would like a private word with you, My Lady. And with you as well, Sire." The woman looked hesitantly at her children. He stepped forward and motioned to the boy she carried. "I'll take him."

She pulled him closer. "What do you want with him?"

"My children and grandchildren are visiting. I'll keep them entertained while you speak with His Majesty."

She didn't want to, but she handed him to Matias. He stirred but remained asleep. Manuel stepped closer to his mother. "It's all right. I'll be right back," she said putting a hand affectionately on his head.

"No. I want to stay with you," he replied sensing her hesitation.

She knelt down. Smiling, she touched his face. "Everything will be fine."

After a moment, Manuel nodded and stepped cautiously toward Matias. He looked up at him. "Did _you _kill my father?" he asked simply.

"Manuel . . ." his mother said appalled.

"It's all right, My Lady," Matias said without taking his eyes from the boy. He was experiencing a horrible case of déjà vu. There was that same little boy who looked at him with those same questioning brown eyes. And here was another boy whose father was taken from him, and his own words had come back to haunt him. "No. No, Manuel, I did not."

Philippe along with Tristan and an expecting Leonore were waiting for them. "Lady Temple, we meet at last. The pleasure is all mine," he said when they arrived. "This is my son, Tristan and his wife, Leonore." He spoke to her with a sense of sympathy in his voice. She could not look at Tristan without feeling ashamed. This was the man her husband was guilty of kidnapping and trying to kill. "And the King of Leon, welcome. Please sit."

"Your Highness," she began, "please, if you wish to further pour out your wrath, take me. Leave my children in peace."

His gaze narrowed, and his voice softened. "You misunderstand my purpose in calling you together like this. I have no desire to hurt you or your sons. In fact, quite the opposite. I have called you here because I would like to get something off my chest that has been weighing me down for a long time. I also promised Carlos I would do so." It was strange to hear him call him that. Especially since she had never called him by his first name, nor could she recall anyone else doing so. "But first things first. I went to see him in his last moments. He said to tell you and his sons that he loved you all. In his final hour, it was his children on his mind. I thought it would comfort you to know that."

"Forgive me, Sire. I find that hard to believe."

"That he loved his sons?"

"That he loved _me_."

"Well, actually, concerning _you_, he said that you were probably glad to see him burn in hell. He believed that with his death, you would be better off."

She grinned. "Now that sounds more like him."

Philippe cleared his throat and stared at his hands. "I suppose I've stalled long enough. 36 years of it has been long enough."

She sensed what he was going to say. "I know, Your Majesty." He looked at her strangely. "Don't worry about upsetting me. He told me." Their eyes met and communicated a lot in a few seconds.

"What is going on?" Tristan asked perturbed and perplexed.

Philippe's eyes didn't leave Lady Temple's as he continued his tale. "About 36 years ago, I had achieved a great victory and was getting ready to set up a winter encampment. I didn't want to go all the way home. I wanted to be ready and in Leon when spring came. I was going to lay waste to Leon and make my father proud. I stopped at a certain Sir Temple's and pretty much declared in my arrogance that I would be staying on his lands."

Tristan sighed. "Yes, we've heard the story a dozen times. One of your knights wooed Temple's daughter, and she had his bastard—Carlos Temple. What of it?"

"That's the story as it was told, but it's not true."

"What do you mean it's not true?"

Philippe sighed. "My knights were smart enough to stay away from Catalina Temple. _I_ was not."

Tristan didn't understand what his father had just said. Francisco did. "It was you?"

He stared at his hands. "She was a beautiful young woman. And I was foolish. And arrogant. When all was said and done, I couldn't do anything for her—as much as I wanted to. My father had arranged my marriage, and he hated Leon about as much as Carlos hated me. She didn't tell her family who the father was. She wanted to do that for me even though I didn't ask her to, but it was probably more their safety than mine. And my father would have killed me if he knew. He certainly would have gotten rid of her and the boy. Of course, the King of Leon, your father, took care of part of that for him. She brought him to see me just days before. I refused. I couldn't look him in the eye, and I knew if I saw him, I'd want him. I had to keep my silence even though when she died the last thing I wanted was to send him to Temple."

Leonore said nothing—only stared in shock, but Tristan had finally processed the information. "He was my brother? He was my brother! Why didn't you tell me?" Tristan asked with his voice rising.

"What would you have done?"

"Did he know?"

"Yes. And it didn't stop him from trying to kill you. What was I supposed to do? Reveal to you and the rest of the kingdom that I had sired the most hated man in all the realm? . . . You and I will deal with this more later. I want to speak to Lady Temple at the moment. My Lady, I wish to make amends. I want to do what I should have done thirty years ago. I couldn't take Carlos, but I can take his son. And forgive me, the language is unfortunate. I do not desire to take your son from you, but he is almost the age where you will be sending him away to train as a page, yes?" She nodded. "I would be grateful if you let me have the honor."

She looked to Francisco for assistance. "What would his father say?" he said. "He'll come back from the grave to haunt you for this."

"Well, he can join his mother. She's been haunting me for years for what I didn't do."

Francisco shrugged. "It would certainly further cement the peace if I allowed you this. My loyalty could be called into question after Temple's actions so giving you his son—the eldest son of my greatest knight—a boy who means a lot to both of us—would be a pledge of my allegiance to our treaty. What of his brothers?"

"When they come of age, I'll be more than happy to extend to them the same opportunity. I'd like to meet them in any case. They are my grandchildren. And your nephews," he added looking over at Tristan.

"Your chancellor took them," she said. "In fact," she said standing, "I should go to them. I promised Manuel I wouldn't be long. And I don't want Javy to wake up in a strange place wondering where I am."

The kings also stood. "Of course, My Lady. Might I accompany you? I'd like to meet them and talk with Manuel. With your permission, of course." She nodded, and he led her and Francisco to where the children were. Tristan and his wife also accompanied them. They stood on the wall looking down at them below. "Which are they? I can't keep all Soledad's grandchildren straight."

She pointed. "The nurse is there with Carlos."

"You named him Carlos?"

"Yes. That's Javier playing in the dirt with that other little boy."

"Which one? The darker headed one?"

"No. Javier is the one with the light brown hair. It's strange. I think he looks more like his father in his face as opposed to Manuel, but his hair is lighter. Manuel is over there, in the shadows, sitting on the bench by himself." The king nodded. She saw the look on the king's face, and seeing her children reassured her of their safety. "Go, Sire," she offered. "You go first. You'll get time alone with them if you appear before I do." He nodded again in appreciation and went down to them along with Tristan and Leonore. She watched him speak with the nurse and hold little Carlos for a moment. He then handed him to Leonore who gushed over the infant. Philippe said a few words to Javy. He made him laugh. She smiled to see her son smile that beautiful little smile of his. Philippe then left Tristan with Javier and approached Manuel alone. The boy moved over so the king could sit next to them. She watched them talk and wondered what it was Philippe found to talk to him about.

"Are you all right with all this?" Francisco asked. He had been standing there the whole time watching her as she watched her sons.

"Sending my son to live with a man I've seen as my enemy my whole life? Peace certainly does change things. Although, I guess he is, in a way, my father-in-law."

"I'm sure you will be allowed to visit as often as you like."

"Did you see the way she looked at me?"

"The princess?"

"Pity."

"Because you lost your husband."

"No. Pity that I had to suffer through marriage to him in the first place. I'm not sorry I married him. I know he was difficult to live with, but I don't want my sons to be ashamed of their father. Yes, what he did was wrong—absolute madness. But I wish he'd stay their hero. I want them to remember him as they saw him—not as he was. Am I making any sense?"

He found himself sliding his hand in hers as she spoke. "Yes, My Lady. I'm sure Philippe will carry on that legacy for you. Even Tristan. He once thought highly of Temple. They'll be fine. My father wasn't what I'd call a man of honor either, but I turned out all right."

She smiled and found herself squeezing his hand. "Yes. And thank you, Your Grace, for all you've done for us."

He smiled in return, and they both turned back to watch the children below. Philippe had found a way to get Manuel up. They were both laughing and sparring with their wooden swords. The king seemed quite spry as he played with them, despite his age. Javy ran around them cheering on his brother. Manuel finally dispatched his opponent. Philippe fell to the ground. Tristan laughed and called from his spot on the ground. "Kneel, Green Knight." He did. "My Lord, your victory in arms was a great one. Your skill is unrivaled in all the land, and you bring honor and glory to your house. Rise to the cheers of your kingdom!"


	17. New Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The young man stood leaning on the old oak tree with his arms crossed across his chest waiting for his squires. The young knight wore the colors of the infamous Green Knight of Leon. It had been many years since the death of Don Carlos Temple, but those colors still inspired fear and rightly so. Everyone knew Temple had three sons who had the potential to be just as deadly as their father. The young man's hair was dark and short. He also had a short beard. He had recently been knighted and was preparing to return home to Asturius. He heard footsteps and turned to see his king approaching. He stood straight and bowed to King Tristan.

"I heard you were going back this morning," the king called out. The young man nodded. "Are you taking your brother as you had planned?"

"Yes. And Philippe as well."

"You'll take care of him? He's our youngest."

"Of course. You may reassure your queen. No harm will come to the young prince on my watch."

"Good." They turned to see the two young men approaching leading four horses: three for the travelers and one with baggage. "Well, be careful on your journey home. Give my regards to your parents."

"I will."

"We're campaigning in the spring. Against the Moors. Will you be fighting under Leon's colors or mine?"

"Either, Your Majesty. I only wish to serve."

"Perhaps I'll see you in a few months then."

The two young squires rode through the gates with the horses. A smiling woman ran out to meet them. One of the boys ran to her as well, and they met in an embrace. "Oh, look at you, Carlos!" she said with a smile putting her hands on his face. "You're getting so tall!"  
"How are you, Mother?"

"I am very well, thank you," she said with a smile.

"And Father? And the kids?"

"We are all well. I see you are well also. But where is your brother?"

"He wished to stop first." The teenager shrugged. "At the cemetery."

"Don Manuel Rodriguez Temple," she said as she approached him. He looked up to see her and smiled.

"Hello, Mother. I thought you'd meet us here."

She smiled. "I wanted to meet you at home."

"Home?" He shrugged. "I wish I could say being back brings back fond memories. The only memory I have of the place is when we buried him. Then I went to stay with King Philippe. It just . . . doesn't feel much like home."

"It will." She noticed he was standing at the grave of Don Carlos Temple.

"Are Father and the children here as well?" he asked after a pause.

"Yes. And they are eager to see you. They miss their big brother." She chuckled. "They may not recognize you though. Not with that beard. . . . or was that the point?"

"What?"

"Are you tired of being compared to him?" she asked nodding at the grave. He said nothing. "You should be flattered. Carlos Temple was a handsome man."

"He wasn't good to you," he said softly.

She smiled. "He had his moments. Things could have been worse. _Much worse._ And you—he loved you."

"How can you still defend him? After all this time?"

She looked away—far into the distant past. "I knew why the King of Leon wanted me to marry Don Temple. He needed heirs, and my purpose was to give him some. And I _wanted_ to do that for him. I wanted to make him happy. And the sooner the better." Manuel watched her during the exchange confused but prepared to interrupt if this walk down memory lane ventured too far into their bedroom. "We hadn't been married long, and I . . . I knew I wasn't pregnant. I was disappointed and . . . scared. The king would be angry, obviously. And I didn't want to disappoint your father. It's the last thing I wanted. All he wanted was to go back out to the field, and I was keeping him from that. And then, the creeping doubts—what if I wasn't ever able to give him children? What would happen to me then? I found myself weeping on the floor. His sister found me, and I tried to explain through my sobs. It didn't take but a few disjointed syllables, and she understood. He walked in and saw us. I still remember the confused look on his face. His sister left me and explained to him in hushed tones. He dismissed her and came to me." She looked a confused Manuel in the eye. "He knelt down and pulled me to him. He held me and told me everything was okay. He even chuckled. Your father may have done some unspeakable, horrible things. But he had his moments. Always remember that. So to answer your question 'how can I still defend him after all this time?' I think it's actually easier now than it was then."

Manuel looked away. "I hated him then, you know," he said quietly.

"You did?"

He nodded. "He left. He left, and he didn't take me with him. And he never came back." He shrugged and smiled softly. "I was a child."

She sat down on a bench. "I think we all hated him a little then."

He shuffled and looked around. He nodded at another grave. "That's his uncle that raised him right? It's who you named Javy after?"

She nodded. "And buried next to Javier is his wife—Isabel."

"I can't figure out who this is next to father. Another sister I didn't know about? His mother?"

"Sofia Temple?"

"Yes."

"No. That's his wife."

"His _wife?"_

"First wife."

"He was married before he married you?"

"Of course. You didn't know?" He shook his head. "Those smaller markers next to her?" He nodded. "That's your brother and sister." She then told him about Sofia and all the tragedy that had befallen the young family.

"No wonder he was a little crazy. He loved her?"

"Very much."

"Hello there!" The two of them turned to see King Francisco approaching. "Sir Temple, is it?" he said with a knowing smile.

Manuel smiled back. "Yes, Sir."

"Good, good. Have I interrupted something?" he asked putting a hand on his mother's shoulder. She covered it with her own.

"No. I just finished telling Manuel about Sofia."

"You didn't know?"

"No," he replied. Then he grinned. "How would Father have felt if he knew that the two of you married after he died?"

Francisco smiled. "I don't think he would have been surprised. Although, I'm not sure he would have appreciated you and your brothers calling me 'Father.'"

"Probably not," he said.

"Why don't you go back inside?" he said to his wife. "I'd like to talk to Manuel."

"About what we discussed?"

"Yes." She nodded and left leaving Manuel with another confused look. Francisco cleared his throat. "I see you've kept your father's preferred heraldry."

Manuel looked down at the dragon. "Yeah. Doesn't really bother _me_ any. And if other knights fear me because of my heraldry then I have an edge that I didn't have before," he said with a grin.

Francisco smiled. "See. Right there. The way you said that reminded me of your father. You know, your father wasn't always like you remember him. He was once a man of peace."

"That's what mother was just saying."

"Do you remember that letter your father wrote you? The one where he tried to explain to young Manuel what had happened?"

"Yeah. He wrote Javy one too." Manuel pulled out an aged piece of parchment that had seen better days. "I've always kept it with me. I read it every now and then. Doesn't give me any more answers though."

Francisco pulled out one as well. "This one might." He handed it to Manuel. The one he had been given as a child was simply addressed to "Manny." This one was addressed to "Don Manuel Temple" with the inscription "To be given to him when he becomes a man." "It definitely feels like a letter that is longer than the last, and I figure since you've been knighted that it's time. I haven't read it. As you can see, the seal is unbroken. As much as I hated him, he was my friend once. And I suppose you have a right to it."

"Thank you."

Francisco then left the young man to read what his father had written to him.

_Don Manuel Temple,_

_I am sitting here outside my tent watching Philippe's spies glare at me. I have not heard from Asturius in days, and I am afraid I have been found out. I suppose this means I will not be returning to you or your mother, yet I have left so much unsaid and undone. If you are reading this then you are a man. You must understand that there were many things I wanted to tell you all those years ago that I knew you would not understand or remember so I have saved this til now. I hope this letter finds you, your mother, and your brother well. And in truth, I just hope it finds you at all. Philippe will not let me survive this, and even if he does, Francisco will lock me away in dungeon to rot. I have only a slight hope that any of my letters will reach their destinations. Anyway, if you will but lend me an ear awhile, I'd like to tell you many things. I want to start at the beginning. I don't know what they told you, but I want you to know the truth . . . _

The letter then continued with a history. The boy read of his father's tragic past from his father's own perspective. He read about Philippe abandoning his mother to death all the way until Sofia's tragic passing. Manuel could feel his father's pain preserved in the pages that time itself could not dim. He read about his mother. Temple didn't gloss over any details. He never claimed to love her even if he did express a certain fondness for her. He only wished that she be safe. The letter contained very little about his capture of Tristan and the subsequent events. Only that it was nothing personal against Tristan. He just wanted what was due him. The letter then continued with things that Temple, as a father, wished to tell his son. It was full of advice on how to be a good knight, a good father, and a good husband. It was advice that Manuel would have scoffed at before he had learned of his father's first marriage. The letter continued. . .

_Your mother is an excellent woman, and I hope you will take care of her for me. Although, I am almost sure that she has remarried by now, and I could probably name names, but I don't know in whose hands this letter may find itself so I'll refrain from that. If she married a good man, then you respect him. He's giving her a life that she deserves—the life that I could not give her. If she married a man any worse than I, even if only slightly better than I, get rid of him. You have my permission. I don't care how you do it just get rid of him for her sake. She doesn't deserve any more pain. Also, you probably have other brothers and sisters now. Take care of them as well. The world may not see you as their true brother, but they will._

_Now for the difficult part. I do not regret what I have done. I'm not offering any apologies or looking for any forgiveness. I have written a handful of letters and none of them include a hint of remorse. That is my intention, and I have no desire to do otherwise. Although, I do have one misgiving and that is you Manuel. As sorry as I feel for your mother, I know she will be better off. But it is you I worry about more than any of them. The reason is I lost my mother when I was your age, and my father abandoned me. I know you felt the same. Then, you had to grow up the son of a traitor—just as I did. I had hoped to give my boys a better life than mine, and yours started with far too many similarities. I do apologize to you for any difficulties you have had to grow up with, but I trust that you are a talented, well-respected knight and that you will make me proud. Your mother and stepfather deserve all the credit for that, but I do wish only great things for you, My Son._

Manuel summarized the contents of his letter for Francisco. His father's history included more details than he was familiar with so he asked for some clarification on some names. "Anything else?" the King of Leon asked the young knight. He shook his head. "There is one lesson that your father did not try to teach you that I would like to add," he began.

"What is that?"

"Forgiveness. Mercy. Philippe may have been wrong. But he suffered enough without your father inflicting any pain. And Philippe himself wasn't always at fault."

"Why did he always blame him?"

Francisco chuckled. "Habit I guess. And well, perhaps where the death of his family is concerned, it was easier to blame him than to blame himself. I don't know if you remember, but when you were small, he didn't want you or your mother going anywhere."

"Why?"

"He was determined to keep you protected. He knew you'd be safe with me and the King of Leon. He would have taken you with him if he thought he could defend you and seek vengeance at the same time. It was an obsession of his. I think, to some extent, he blamed himself for what happened to Sofia and his family."

"I don't . . . I don't talk to Mother about this, but . . . did he . . . did he hurt her?"

"You mean physically?"

"Yeah. Did he hit her? I mean, I heard a lot of rumors about what sort of husband he was—embellished stories mostly. At least I hope so. They are from the way she talks, but I can't help but wonder . . ."

Francisco shook his head. "As far as I know, Temple never laid a hand on her. He just wasn't around as much as she would have liked. He didn't invest a whole lot of time in his family. They didn't talk like he and Sofia did."

"But she loved him anyway."

Francisco smiled softly. "You get that too?"

"Yeah. . . . Not that she doesn't love you," Manuel added hastily.

"No, I know."

"You think this letter . . . you think he told me the truth?"

"His version of it. It's probably pretty close."

"I wish I could make things right somehow. I mean, Tristan and Philippe looked after me. They made amends were they could. I wish I could do the same for him."

"You just worry about you. Your father's sins aren't yours to atone for."

As he thought about what Francisco had said, he watched his half-siblings playing below. Francisco was right. He would start by forgiving his wretch of a father—not because Temple had successfully justified his actions—not because he had thought of him or worried about him or remembered him. His father didn't deserve forgiveness, but he would give it to him all the same and move on with his life. Then he would be the man that his father was not. Oh to be sure, he would be as powerful, as respected, but he would be loyal to his liege—his step-father and his uncle. He would respect all men no matter whom they served. Women and children of the enemy would not cower in his presence but expect and receive mercy. But he wouldn't just be a great knight. He would be a good husband like his father was to Sofia. But if something were to happen to her, and he married a second time or even a third, he would treat her just as well. And his children, first of all, would _have _a father. He would be there and nothing, not revenge nor any other duty would separate him from his sons, and he told all this to Francisco.

Francisco only smiled sadly. "You sound like him. Your father?"

Manuel reddened with frustration. "I am _not_ like him. Nor will I ever be."

"Everything you just told me—that's all admirable, Son. But you still sound like him. Don Temple wanted the same things at your age—_especially_ the part about being better than his father. Just remember that. Remember that you could fall just as he did. Don't let your pride ruin you."

Francisco left, and Manuel thought about what he said. The chatter from below found its way to Manuel's place at the window. "Manny! Manny!" he heard. He looked down to see a younger brother holding a wooden sword standing next to a sister who was similarly armed. "Come down and play with us!" Manuel found himself grinning and despite his melancholy mood, he went down to them where he found himself in an epic battle—severely outnumbered but still advantaged over his adversaries until the eldest of his half-brothers ordered a charge. They united themselves and ran at their brother knocking him on his backside.

At the conclusion of the battle, Manuel went to check on his squires. Carlos was still unpacking and putting away Manuel's armor. "Everything make it okay? You or Philippe didn't forget anything?" He shook his head. "Good. I'll finish here. Go see to my horse."

Carlos turned to go. As he did, he muttered under his breath, "I'm just glad we're out of there."

Manuel grabbed a handful of green livery and pulled him back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm tired of defending our father—tired of being the son of a traitor."

"Were you getting beat up by the others?"

"No. And none of them fought back either. No one wished to cross the expressed will of the king," he said bitterly.

"Philippe and Tristan protected us as much as they could."

"They still look at us different. And treat us different."

Manuel grinned and shoved his brother playfully. "They're afraid of us. They're just waiting for us to truly follow our father and kill them all in their sleep."

"I still wish we could have trained here in Leon with Javy." There was a pause. "Do you think he was as bad as they say he was?"

"Do I remember a monster? No." He showed his brother his letter. "I think he was a man—a very talented, very _angry_ man." Manuel waited for Carlos to finish reading the letter.

"Father gave me one too. Mine wasn't as long though. But I guess he didn't really know who he was writing to—another son or a daughter."

Manuel nodded. "Come on. Let's go try some of those fighting tips he put in there."

Carlos pointed to one of his suggestions. "You really think this works?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out. Although, our father wouldn't be the Terror of Leon if he didn't know what he was doing."

As the sun set over Leon, the two sons of Asturius—the sons of Temple—learned the lessons that their father had left for them. Their brother Javier would arrive the following day and thus united the brothers would prepare for the summer campaign. And if the Moors had any idea of the three Terrors that awaited them, they would have left Spain immediately and never returned.


End file.
